


Rookie Moves

by Elle Gray (LGray)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A 16 year old human has SEX, Anal Sex, Auror Harry Potter, Banter, Benedict Cumberbatch is probably a wizard, Bickering, Bisexual Harry Potter, Bisexuality, Blatant and enthusiastic nudity, Blowjob or sandwich?, Bodyguard, Chanero, Charlie Weasley is a pillar of gayness and a great confidant, Coming In Pants, Dodgy Transfiguration, Draco in a towel, Eggs Benedict, English National Team, Español | Spanish, Explosions, Fake/Pretend Relationship, French National Team, Friendly Squib, Funny, Gay Draco Malfoy, Harry ties a few really good knots, Harry wondering if he's a bit gay, Hermione's chicken pie, Hotels, Humour, Kink, Lemon Scented Draco Malfoy, Lots of conjured lube, M/M, Misunderstandings, Nobody has forgotten the fiendfire, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Oral Sex, Outercourse, Quidditch, Quidditch Player Draco Malfoy, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Robards has no boundaries, Rookie Aurors, Scientific explorations of gayness, Sex God But Still Insecure Draco, Shibari, Shower shananigans, Slut Shaming, Snarky Draco Malfoy, Switching, That weird owl is back again, Toast, Veritaserum, Wandless Magic, Witch Weekly meddling again, a lot of tea, a tiny bit of bondage, accidental magic, but only entry-level kink, frottage?, oh no, shit coffee, shit got explicit!, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-06-13 18:03:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 60,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15370239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LGray/pseuds/Elle%20Gray
Summary: So the war's over and Harry's a Rookie Auror, and everything seems... fine? I mean, he's single, his life is mostly work and he hasn't been out in ages and he's tired and annoyed most of the time, and he should probably be a bit more social, but the last time he kissed a girl he had to Obliviate her... but that's normal, right? And then Robards throws him a file, yells at him a bit and he finds himself guardingMalfoyof all people, and maybe that little feeling in his gut he thought he'd disproved as indigestion once and for all.... maybe was something else. Something lots gayer.





	1. Find Out

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt of the amazing Who_la_hoop's. I tried to email you to ask if I could steal this nicely in a Hufflepuff sort of way, then Ravenclawed my way out of feeling guilty by citing the reference ;)

 

There were three ways that Draco Malfoy could've won back his woefully decimated reputation after the war. 

He could've become an immensely successful musician, rising to the heights of the Weird Sisters. Clad in black leather pants and an open shirt with the structural integrity of a whisper. Unnecessarily sturdy black boots and that flop of fringe falling over his grey eyes as he peered out from under kohl-darkened lids. Throngs of adoring teenagers could never be wrong, after all, and his lyrics would be so _deep_ and speak of such pain and regret that he couldn't possibly be an evil little dick. The revolution would start from the tweens upward, poisoning the reasonable preconceptions of their parents and brainwashing their tiny siblings til all were overcome with nice fluffy feelings of adoration/begrudging acceptance.

Or, he could've been an Auror, like Harry, saving the world one dastardly wizard at a time. It's not like the Ministry could've said no, they'd been the ones to exonerate him and preach about forgiveness and moving on. They could hardly start to claim grey areas now and undermine their own decision making. Maybe he would've thrown himself into his training with a thirst to prove his worth, followed every rule and regulation to make up for years of misdeeds, shone with the promise of a redeemed man, ready to take on the world.

Or, he could've done _this_. Harry wished he hadn't. Wished with all his heart, that Malfoy had not decided that 'International Quidditch Star' was the one to go with. Neither of the other options would've made Harry feel quite so… pissed off. Annoyed. Put out. Okay, jealous. Fine.

Harry didn't want to sing, he was terrible at it, wouldn't have given a shit if Malfoy had become the wizarding equivalent of Taylor Swift in leather pants. And Harry already _was_ an Auror, top of his class, best rookie in years, one to watch. But he _wasn't_ an International Quidditch Player, and his inner 14 year old boy was crying big soggy tears all over his soul. 

Typical Malfoy to go for the raw bit, and just poke it again, rub salt in it. Harry never even got glimpsed by a scout, not really. He'd got too distracted in 6 th year to even think about Quidditch, and 7 th year, while a great time to be performing for the regional scouts under normal circumstances, turned out to be a better year for destroying tiny bits of Voldemort and trying not to die. And saving Malfoy's arse.

The arse that was now comfortably astride a shiny black FireFiend5000, zipping around the England team's training grounds. He wasn't playing for England at least, Harry could still grasp at the hope he wouldn't have made that team as easily as he did the French. But there was the undisclosed reason for his sudden presence back in the UK that Harry thought might be about to throw a spanner at that too. Robards had been cagey as to why Malfoy was here, and that in itself didn't sit well in Harry's gut. The conversation had been, typically, blunt:

'Potter! My office!' His boss had barked before disappearing from the open doorwayof the break room.

Harry had looked around, wide-eyed, at the other rookies, all sat at their shitty table, the only one that wobbled and had an immovable stain, where they were dutifully going over their shitty, rookie-level, kneazle-in-a-tree assignments before work and trying to choke down some truly, truly shitty coffee. They'd mirrored his confusion back at him, no idea what was going on. To be fair, Neville usually looked like he had no idea what was going on, even after getting through the war, NEWT level Potions, The Big Snake Fight and Auror training. Millicent was a good enough liar that she could've been faking it. The other two were a better gauge of whether something was as odd as it seemed. They both blinked back at Harry, half-jealous of the special attention and half-afraid they'd never see him alive again. It was a look he was familiar with.

Harry got up, his chair scraping across the linoleum, the table giving a mournful little wobble. He went to grab his coffee, second-guessed himself, wondering if it was unprofessional to take it with him, then remembered he didn't care and went to grab it again, only to punch the heavy ceramic mug awkwardly with his fingertips and get his pinky right on the fresh paper-cut from last nights filing.

'Bollocks,' he swore under his breath, eliciting sympathetic glances all round as he shook his hand out, willing the pain away, even from Millie, though that was probably a lie too. 'Wish me luck.'

'You'll be fine, Harry,' Neville insisted.

'He _might_ be fine,' someone else whispered once he'd turned his back, probably Lisa, the little trollop. Sparker was the sweeter of the two, not so prone to stirring. 'Or Robards might have it in for him after the thing with the stapler.' 

Fuck, he'd forgotten about that. He followed Robards' path out of the break room door and through the bullpen, only just filling up now it was almost 9am, and into the large, hideously messy office at the end of the long row of cubicles.

'Shut the door,' Robards said, before dropping himself heavily into his chair, making it squeak alarmingly. The thing was probably held together with hope and Spellotape. 'This is your first real assignment Potter, how do you feel about that?'

'Er… suitably afraid, sir,' Harry answered. Truth was always best with experienced Aurors, they could always tell when you were lying. Of course it was also impossible to tell when they were lying themselves, so Harry had no idea how Robards felt about any of this.

'Sit down and read this,' was all he said.

Harry tried to sit and catch the folder thrown to him at the same time and didn't do appallingly badly at it. He didn't drop anything anyway. Seeker reflexes. There was a bit of bizarre crouching but nothing worse than last year's  British Auror Service Charity Christmas Calandar.

He settled himself in one of the less-tired visitors' chairs and flipped the manila folder open. On the left, attached with a fancy charmed paper-clip - the sort that put itself back in the right place and never dented photos - was a photo. Of Draco Malfoy. Looking healthy. Clean, not terrified, not deathly pale, no dark circles under his eyes. Not scowling.  

Harry looked across the desk at his boss, who was studiously not looking at him, and instead examining his own fingernails. Right.

There wasn't a lot else in the file. A couple articles from what looked to be a French newspaper, also sporting photos of Malfoy, this time not only looking healthy, but also windswept, as he was blatting back and forth across the frame in Quidditch robes that looked very like the French away kit. Without the ability to read the captions, or even the headlines, Harry was at a loss. He had immediate suspicions but there was a completely reasonable reluctance to take this at face value. Face value being that Draco sodding Malfoy was suddenly playing Quidditch for the French team. It would explain his general absence from Millie's debaucherous weekend tales if he was in France. But surely _someone_ would've mentioned a classmate making an international team?

Harry flipped the articles over out of the way and found three sheets of standard off-white parchment. One was his own Auror profile that blurred that nice line between professional and honest, on an MLE letterhead that hadn't changed in about 100 years. It was slightly crooked, like it had be _Geminioed_ in a rush.

**Name: Harry James Potter (Male)**

**Age: 21 (31 July 1981 - tbc)**

**Height: 5'9**

**Weight: 81kg**

**Eyes: 2, green, astigmatism**

**Hair: Black, mess**

**Rank: rookie**

**Special skills: corporeal patronus, resists Imperius Curse, Muggle childhood**

**Limitations: requires glasses, lack of self-preservation instinct, Muggle childhood**

There was a photo of him in his brand new Auror robes from a couple of months ago and a list of cases he'd worked on. A short list.

The page under it was a similar profile on Malfoy, with the notable difference of actual graphic design from this century and the French Quidditch League logo on the top left corner. Now he was holding it, Harry wondered if the parchment was slightly above standard MLE quality. Strange though that it wasn't purer white, they could've waved it around in a pinch. 

**Name: Draco Malfoy**

**Age: 21**

**Height: 5'11**

**Weight: 79kg**

**Position: seeker**

**Signature moves: Wronski feint, Wellblard's hassle, inverted swooping!**

There was a list of games played, regional, then national, earlier ones as a reserve, more recently as a starter. It was a longer list than Harry was comfortable with. It meant that Malfoy had be playing professional Quidditch for a long time and Harry hadn't noticed. Either he was going selectively blind and deaf, or he'd been neglecting fun. When was the last time he and Ron had seen a match? Talked about anything to do with Quidditch that wasn't just fuelled by whatever they'd gleaned from the front page of a magazine? When was the last time they'd had a game of pick-up in the orchard? When was the last time he'd even flown? When the fuck did Malfoy steal his signature move?

Harry turned the page over, sick of seeing the git's picture smile smugly while he felt his own self-respect crumble into his standard issue Auror boots (dragonhide, size 9, fully capable of holding all his childhood hope and dreams).

The last sheet was orders. The date, times, a location. His mission. It was brief.

_Guard Draco Malfoy from the press, fanatics and those wishing him harm (low-level threat). Preferably hide his presence in England from all non-approved personnel. Recommend civilian clothes and appearance of casual acquaintance rather than Auror guard, by request. If questioned, INSIST social visit only._

Odd. Malfoy was obviously living in France and here apparently in secret. But why would he need guarding? If it _was_ a social visit, why would the press care? And if the press wouldn't care, why did he need guarding from them? And if he did need guarding, did that mean he wasn't here on a social visit? And if he wasn't here on a social visit, and the profile in the folder was from his Quidditch League, and the articles were French…

'Sir, is Malfoy here to -'

'No,' Robards said.

'But-'

'No,' his bosses finger pointed at him from across the table. 'I can't tell you why. I only tell you what. Any questions?'

'Plenty.'

'Tough, get out of my office and off to Milton Keynes, he's waiting for you.'

'But why me, sir?' Harry wondered if he would spend his whole life asking that question, and if anyone would ever give him a satisfying answer.

'Because it's guarding Draco bloody Malfoy, and there's no rank lower than rookie to dump this on,' Robards growled. Seeing Harry's hurt look, he sighed, resigned. 'Higher-ups want it to look like we're playing along but they don't want to pay overtime for real Aurors.' Robards saw him tense at that - _real Aurors_ \- and gave him a challenging look, quelling his indignation. 'They don't actually care what happens to him, Potter, it's a dream assignment. Guard the perfectly capable wizard who survived LIVING WITH VOLDEMORT, and no one cares if you fuck up and he dies. The job does itself, you just have to be there.'

'But- overtime?'

'Paid overtime, Potter.'

'But- what about the other rookies?'

Robards huffed out something that was almost a laugh.

'They're a bunch of girls, Potter, and Longbottom. You're the one for the job.'

'They're very capable girls, sir, and Neville is-'

'I know everything Neville _is_ ," Robards snapped. 'And between you and Longbottom, which of you is most likely to have spoken at the little shithead's trial and made sure he didn't get chucked in Azkaban, proving you give half a shit about his wellbeing?'

'Uh, me sir?' 

'Right. And of you, Bulstrode, Turpin and Sparker, which one is least likely to fall victim to the charms of an International Quidditch Player that looks like a handsome, albino version of Benedict Cumberbunch and end up PREGNANT AND USELESS TO THIS DEPARTMENT?'

'Also me, sir.'

'Well done, Potter. Now, fuck off.'

Two modest apparitions and he was there. Here. At the not-exactly-top-secret English Quidditch League's training grounds, with a badge that said 'VISITOR', feeling underdressed without his Auror robes, and overdressed in suit pants and a button down shirt and waistcoat on the side of a Quidditch pitch. He should've gone home, he supposed, and grabbed casual clothes, the orders had said something about casual. But then, maybe this was casual for a Malfoy. It's not like he was wearing loafers - his boots were quite utilitarian. That was similar to casual.

It was obvious the moment that Malfoy realised he was there. Mostly because he looked him right in the eye but also because his sudden lack of focus meant he got hit squarely on the head by a Quaffle and fell off his broom. Well, almost fell off his broom. He actually righted himself quite nicely, letting the momentum from the blow and his dead weight spin him all the way around under his broom and back up again, perfectly balanced and looking as though he'd meant to do it all along. Unless you counted the glare he gave the English reserve chaser, Melody Reeves, who swooned an apology. Malfoy ignored her in favour of pelting across the pitch and stopping a foot from Harry's face, side on and slightly above his eye line.

'Potter?' he asked, looked down his nose at him.

'Malfoy.'

'Why?'

'They sent me.'

'They sent _you_?'

'Apparently your reputation for impregnating people precedes you, and I was the only one without a uterus.'

'That was one time, and it was a lie.' Draco scowled. That was good, scowling was nice and normal.

'I really don't want to know about your mating habits,' Harry said, settling back into their usual banter.

'There is no _mating_ , Potter…'

Harry shrugged with practiced nonchalance, borrowing Robards' tactic and studying his own fingernails. They were very clean, a clear sign of not leaving the office enough and having an extremely boring existence.

'I don't want to know about your asexual reproduction either.'

'I'm not asexual, you giant git,' Draco rolled his eyes. 'I'm gay. Don't you read the French papers?'

'Something else I didn't need to know,' Harry said, refusing to picture… anything. 'Though now I do, I suppose I can go back to my department and claim sexual harassment and hopefully one of the girls you'll have no in interest can come here and babysit you instead.'

'I'm not sexually harassing you,' Draco spluttered. 'And I don't need babysitting!'

'Just normal harassment then?' Harry asked, feeling right at home in his sarcasm. 'Same as usual?'

'Well, I'd missed it, I figured I'd get stuck right back in.'

'Good decision, very efficient,' Harry used his most patronising tone, the one he usually kept for noise complaints at 9pm on a Saturday night next to a live music venue that had been there longer than the complainant had even been alive. Thinking about noise complaints made him angry. 'And of course I don't read the French papers, I don't know French, you imbecile.'

'Imbecile is a French word, actually.'

'And fuck off is an English one,' Harry retorted, and not wanting to waste a good parting shot, spun on his heel and head back into the clubhouse where there was tea and maybe, hopefully, alcohol.

'That's two words, Potter,' drifted after him as Malfoy took back to the sky and resumed whatever it was he had been doing. Aerial flirting, Harry would've assumed, what with the delicately clumsy English reserve behaving that way, but given Malfoy's blatant declaration, maybe not. Though of course, _she_ might not have known that. She didn't look the type to read the French papers either. Reasonable, sensible girl. Maybe Harry should ask her out. He hadn't been out with anyone in ages. The flurry of activity after Gin and he had fizzled out stuck out in his mind as the last time he's properly pulled. He'd accidentally snogged Sparker at the pub once or twice since, back when they were still in the beginning bit of Auror training, but he'd Obliviated her so maybe that didn't count. If she couldn't count it, he didn't have to, right?

 

*** 

 

The clubhouse was warm and dry and dimly lit, with a well-stocked bar and giant bludger-proof windows looking out onto the pitch. There was a staff member wiping down tables when he walked in, probably ten or so years older than him, female. Harry practiced his discreet frisking charm on her while her back was turned. No wand. He mentally patted himself on the back, his observational skills were getting better. Squibs were hard to recognise in the wizarding world, but needed extra protection in dangerous situations and Muggleborn Auror trainees often had trouble picking up something like wiping a table down manually as an oddity when it's something they'd grown up seeing as normal. Harry had the advantage of having been responsible for all the manual chores at the Dursleys, as such loathing them. Anytime he saw a witch or wizard doing any chore that could be achieved with magic, he was filled with horror. Horror was a good indicator. Hard to miss.

He eventually ended up with tea and a scone, admitting to himself that 9.48am was definitely too early for beer. Now he just had to sit here and guard Malfoy. From nothing. He placed himself with his back to the wall anyway, being sure he could see the only door into the clubhouse from outside the Notice-Me-Not that was hiding the entire complex, and out onto the pitch where Malfoy was. He even deployed an Extendable Ear so it stuck itself under the door to the pitch in case there was any spontaneous petrified screaming that might indicate an attack. So far all he'd heard was happy shouting and encouraging, complimentary remarks about Malfoy's 'inverted swooping'. Harry just thought it looked like he was perpetually crashing and refusing to admit it.

Two and a half hours later, the entire English Quidditch team, including reserves, coaches, manager and Healer, and Draco Malfoy came in from pitch and walked right past him and directly into the conference room. As the doors were closed behind them, Harry's superior Auror senses noted the sudden appearance of a enormous cooked lunch on the conference table. No one had even looked at him. No one had asked him if he needed lunch. Harry wasn't sure whether to be refreshed by the fact or to just stick with hangry. This was the worst mission ever.

The afternoon saw a bit more swooping, a few set plays with Draco in position, a relatively competent demonstration of the Wronski Feint, and, for Harry, writing letters to every old friend he could think of that he hadn't seen socially in a while. Which was basically everyone he could think of minus Hermione and Ron. The Squib witch had taken pity on him and made him a plate of leftovers from the conference room, delivering it with a shy smile and an apology that it was a bit cold. She tried to walk away to eat her own lunch by herself, but Harry couldn't bear another moment of boredom and insisted she sat with him. He warmed their food as discreetly as he could, not wanting to flaunt his magic, and settled in to eat his roast beef, carrots, a single roast potato and one gravy-drenched half of a Yorkshire pudding. It was good. 

'Do you, er, get to watch the team practice a lot?' He asked after while, growing tired of the silence.

'Sort of,' the girl said. 'I'm here a lot, and so are they, but I have things to do,' she took a bite of her half of the pudding. 'And it gets a bit boring to watch them running drills. It's good when they get a local regional team in to practice on,' she smiled. 'They beat the Cannons 950-0 a few weeks ago.'

'Ouch,' Harry said, making a mental note to tell Ron later and attacking his beef with singular determination for a few minutes.

'Today's been a bit more interesting with your French guy,' she continued after a while. 'He's not hard to look at. Shame about him being gay.'

Harry raised an eyebrow.

'Do you read the French papers?' he asked her. 

'What? No. Should I?'

'No, I just-' Harry took a breath. 'I didn't know he was… into men. He said I would have if I read them.'

'Huh,' she smiled and ate some peas. Harry wondered why he hadn't got peas. 'When you walked in and went out to see him I had assumed you were lovers.'

Harry choked on a carrot.

'Why?' he spluttered out between coughs.

'You were very well dressed. And you were watching him very intently. And he fell off his broom when he saw you.' She shrugged as if that explained it and shovelled in some carrots of her own.

It was a rare thing to be called well-dressed and Harry took a moment to enjoy it. Millie must've been right about the waistcoats. He had assumed it a lie but the close fit had felt like a hug and he'd persisted long after calling her bluff.

'And when he walked through here and completely ignored me?'

'I re-evaluated for a bit.'

'A bit?'

'He asked me to make you a plate.' She smiled around a mouthful of beef. 'It was sweet.'

'Oh.'

'Besides,' she swallowed noisily. 'Don't you read the British papers?'

'No?' Harry had given up on the Prophet years ago, and the Quibbler was still mostly zoological nonsense. Were there other papers now? Did Witch Weekly count?

'They've been questioning your sexuality recently. There was a photo in a pub that looked suspiciously like you were snogging a boy and they ran another old one alongside it of you very definitely kissing a girl with long blonde hair.'

Sparker. Sparker was the blonde. Clearly, thankfully, she didn't read the paper either. The boy - man, really - was less… identifiable. He found himself re-using Malfoy's line from earlier. 

'That was one time, and it didn't mean anything. And I was drunk.' He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 'I don't even know his name.'

'Witch Weekly identified him as Evan Hitchmingle.'

'Oh.'

'They also had a panel of experts kiss him and he was unanimously declared 'disappointing'.'

'What? That's horrible.'

'Are they wrong?'

'No.'

'Hm.' She stood up from the table and picked up her empty plate, gesturing for his own. He wasn't completely finished but had kind of lost his appetite thinking about Evan Hitchmintle and pushed it across the table at her. 'Time for a drink, Mr Potter?'

'Yes, I think so.'

 

***

 

At 3.02pm, the team landed, shook hands with Malfoy and retreated to the locker rooms. Malfoy came inside instead, bag slung over his shoulder, and sweat making his hair stick up at odd angles. He was panting a little.

'Ready to go, Potter, or am I interrupting your missives?' he looked pointedly at the pile of letters on the table.

'Going without your broom?' Harry asked as he used his wand to collect up his things and shrink them into his waistcoat pocket.

'It's not my broom,' Malfoy said, both eyebrows showing disapproval of the matter.

'No?' Harry did a quick visual sweep of the room and found it empty. Safe.

'It's charred wood under the highly polished resin finish and it's called a _FireFiend_ ,' Malfoy gave him a look. 'Not something I can imagine myself wanting to own.'

'Oh. True. Er…' Harry looked helplessly at the fireplace. 'Probably a no to flooing to the hotel then?'

'Yes, but don't worry,' a hand clamped down on Harry's arm. 'I know where we're going.'

The gut-squeezing twist of apparition was never fun, but an unexpected side-along was about as fun as Evan Hutchfankle with a handful of your dick and his tongue down your throat.

'Fuck, Malfoy,' Harry cursed as he collapsed to his knees on the plush carpet of the hotel room. 'A little warning next time?'

'Harden up, Potter.'

'I'm quite hard enough, thank you,' Harry retorted, clambering up off the floor and stalking off toward the bathroom before the sudden and furious blush could make it above his collar. He whipped the door open and slammed it behind him. Fuck. He turned the tap on full so it sounded like he was doing something productive and not just freaking out. What was wrong with him? Did he just _say_ that? To _Malfoy_? Who was _gay_? And… and Harry kissed a boy and everyone _knew about it_. And Witch Weekly's panel of experts thought the boy was a crap kisser so what if Harry was wrong and kissing boys wasn't generically horrible and only kissing Evan Hutchbubble was horrible? That meant… that meant the experiment had failed and Harry still had no conclusive data. 'And we're back in existential crisis mode,' he muttered to himself in the mirror. 'Brilliant.'  

'Potter, what are you doing to my bathroom?'

Harry flicked his wand into all five corners of the room (what a weird place to put a towel rail) and traced a loose rectangle around the small window, reciting a basic Azkaban-level security charm. Still feeling a bit hyped up, he turned off the tap and sent a tricky little spell down each plughole: sink, shower, bidet (or as Lisa called it, 'arse shower') and another modified one down the s-bend in the loo before closing the lid again.

'Potter? Are you talking to my toilet?'

Harry opened the door mid-eye-roll and stared Malfoy right in the face. He must've been standing very close to the door. 

'I was securing your toilet, you dick.'

'What's going to sneak in through the toilet?'

'A very tiny basilisk, maybe?' Harry  was hopeful. That charm wasn't specifically basilisk proof.

'What are you actually expecting to happen? I don't imagine anyone has a burning desire to see me dead anymore, and the press are never quite so enthusiastic as to climb in via the plumbing.' Malfoy watched Harry as he shoved past and repeated his incantations on the bedroom. 'Well, they aren't in Paris, anyway.' He watched Harry surround all three tall windows with a red rectangle. 'The French are a bit more decorous, though. I'd forgotten how brusque the British are.'

'I'll take brusque,' Harry said, finishing up. 'Better that than posh, whinging twat.'

Malfoy narrowed his eyes a little before shaking it off and going back to mildly haughty. 

'Am I allowed out?' he asked Harry.

'No,' Harry decided.

'I'm hungry.'

'Order room service.'

'I want wine.'

'Again, room service.'

'I can't drink _alone_.'

'Room service and an escort?' Harry suggested. 'Though be sure to tell them to use the door, I've made the room in-apparable to other people. If you try and side-along someone in you'll just end up splinching them.' 

'What if I have to side-along you again?'

Harry sighed. 

'Of course _I_ can get in, I can hardly protect you from outside the room.'

'So you're going to protect me from inside the room, then?'

Technically, that wasn't required, not now he'd secured the room itself. Technically, for the low-level threat of the press and adoring fans, he could probably just leave Malfoy here by himself and fuck off home for a cup of tea and a lie-down. 

Harry looked at his watch. It was only seventeen minutes past three. At least six or seven hours of the day remained in which Malfoy could disobey all his orders and fuck up the easiest job in the world by not staying put. Besides, Harry was still on the clock til 5. And paid overtime was probably less pathetic than sitting at home by himself.

'Fine.'

Malfoy smirked with satisfaction and tossed the room service menu at Harry.

'Order something, I'm showering,' and he sauntered away, unclipping various bits of leather from his arms and legs as he went. 'And don't order anything shit, Potter, some of us have working tastebuds.'

The bathroom door clicked shut the moment Harry realised he hadn't yet warned Malfoy about the unrepentantly brutal finger-sizzling charm he'd put on the windows. He leapt across the room and straight for the door handle, figuring most people would rather have fingers than privacy. 

'Don't touch the windows!' he yelled into the room, not registering exactly where Malfoy was immediately upon entering but terribly glad to not find him bleeding on a bathroom floor again. He looked around and observed a tousled white blonde head emerging from a wad of Quidditch gear over by the shower, the pale, muscular torso it was attached to also quite… observable. Yes. Results still quite inconclusive. Harry could merely be observing out of jealousy at the chiseled nature of the other man's abs. 'They, er…' he took in Malfoy's raised eyebrow and the way he shamelessly dropped his Quidditch robes to the floor, leaving his chest bare, his arms hanging at his sides, the pale wisp of hair below his navel a new addition since Harry had last seen him shirtless. Or maybe he just hadn't noticed it amongst the copious bleeding. He was probably staring. Shit. 'I charmed them. Security, you know. Don't touch them. In fact, give them a wide berth. It's a pretty nasty charm. Possibly overkill in this situation. Sorry. As you were.' He backed out of the room and closed the door in one swift movement. ' _Shit_ ,' he whispered to himself. What an idiot. Still, even this small, dubious piece of evidence was compelling. Draco looked nice shirtless. Harry needed to make a floo call.

 

***

 

'Charlie? Are you alone?'

'Uh, sort of?' A rumpled, sheet-wrapped man appeared behind his shoulder.

'Que?' he man said. 'Haree Pootter?' He grinned, delighted.

'Oh,' Harry said. 'Hi.' Crap.

'Don't worry, he doesn't speak English.' Charlie assured him, only to get cuffed affectionately on the shoulder.

'I. Am. Panero,' the man said, looking very pleased with himself.

'Isn't he adorable?' Charlie smiled.

'Yeah, er. D'ya remember the plan we had with the experiment and the conclusion we made from the outcome of that?'

'Yeah.'

'Witch Weekly found the guy and, like, made him kiss a bunch of people and they all said he was shit at it, and now I'm doubting our conclusion.'

'Oh.'

'What the fuck do I do?' Harry pleaded.

'D'ya wanna borrow Panero?'

'I. Am. Panero.'

'I'm at work, in the field. I can't just… you know.'

'Then why are you calling me _now_?' Charlie looked at him with Molly's shrewd gaze. 'What's going on?'

'I'm guarding Draco Malfoy,' Harry sighed, hiding behind closed eyes. 'He's playing Quidditch professionally now for France and he's visiting England for some reason, and he's… in danger or something.' Harry opened his eyes and stared fixedly at the wooden floor under Charlie's knees. 'And he's into guys. And I just saw him shirtless. And I'm very confused.'

'So you want to repeat the experiment and you have a gay, half-naked, professional Quidditch player at your disposal, and you're… what - holed up in a safe house? His luxury apartment? The French Embassy?'

'A hotel room.'

'Oh, so a gay, half-naked, professional Quidditch player and a giant bed.'

'He's probably properly naked now, he's in the shower.'

'Harry, I'll be honest, this seems like a no-brainer.'

'But,' he wracked his brain for words that would make sense. 'It's _Malfoy_.'

'And he lives in France. And none of your friends know him. And he's stuck in a hotel room with you.'

'But…'

' _Fuck_ _but_ , Harry. Go find out. Call me in the morning.' Charlie winked and rose from the floor, him and Panero scampering out of sight. Okay. That was kind of helpful.

Harry unfolded himself from the floor and surveyed the room. The bed _was_ enormous. He picked up the menu from where he'd dropped it on the floor and scanned it. Time to call the front desk.

 

***

 

Harry surveyed the room service trolley. There were four bottles of wine on the top, in particular the most expensive red, white and rose on the list and the least expensive bubbly (which was still moderately expensive). There was a pitcher of iced water with charmed ice to keep it cold, goblets, plates, and napkins. On the middle shelf there was an array of appetisers, avoiding all seafood and anything with garlic or raw onion. On the bottom shelf there was a selection of wizarding board games, none of which Harry had even seen before. Optimistically, there was also a tiny tube of lubricant in his trouser pocket. Just in case.

Just in case all of Harry's, and apparently the Prophet's, and while we're being honest, probably Ginny's, suspicions turned out to be a little bit true. Harry fiddled with his cufflinks. Rolled his sleeves up, thought about it, decided it looked too much like he was preparing for something and rolled them down again. Realised they were wrinkled now and rolled them up again. Decided his tie was at odds with his casual shirtsleeves and loosened it a bit. Dropped his cufflinks into the trouser pocket and heard them 'plink' against the tube of lubricant. That he wouldn't be using. Because you don't need lube to kiss someone and that was all that needed to happen here. To be _sure_. To have evidence. To know without a doubt that Harry James Potter, rookie Auror, smiter of dark lords and permanent bachelor, might be a little bit… into men… What was taking Malfoy so damn long in the shower? Was he having a wank or something? Should Harry have a wank? No. You don't need to do that to kiss someone either. If anything, they should do that _to_ you. The person you were kissing. In this case, Malfoy. With his consent, of course. Oh Lordy, what if he really didn't want Harry to kiss him? What if the falling off his broom and making sure he got lunch and wanting him to stay and drink wine with him and letting him perve at him shirtless was just… friendliness? Was Malfoy friendly? That didn't sound like him. That said, Harry wanting to kiss a Slytherin, and a _boy,_ didn't sound like Harry either. Especially _this_ Slytherin. This boy. Man. Fuck.

'How much wine are you planning on drinking, Potter?' came a voice from the bathroom door, Harry realising all at once that the shower sounds had stopped, and that, yes, Malfoy really was properly naked under that towel, and that actually, he really didn't know how much wine was appropriate because he only ever really drunk beer. Malfoy gave him a look of mock-sympathy. 'Is there something you want to tell me?' _Yes_.

'I didn't know which one to choose.'

'Is that a common problem?' Malfoy asked, coming closer to stare in disbelief at the half-dozen plates on the trolley. 'There seems to be enough food here for four people. Couldn't you even decide what you wanted to eat?'

'Not really, no.' Harry was seeing a theme developing. He was also seeing a lot more of Malfoy than he had expected. The towel was reasonably sized but it was still only a towel. A wet towel. A clingy towel.

'I'd hate to see you in a half-decent restaurant. We'd be there all night.' 

Harry felt mildly affronted, he wasn't normally slow at choosing, and it was much easier if he was the only one eating it. He often picked out meals by himself. This wasn't what his traitorous, panicky, defensive mouth focused on though. 'Why would _we_ be in a restaurant together?'  

'Because in an ideal world, I'd be allowed to leave my hotel room,' Malfoy said pointedly. 'And we wouldn't be eating off a fucking trolley like peasants.' 

'Well, in my ideal world,' Harry snarked right back. 'You'd be wearing clothes and not complaining that I got you a selection of food and wine, LIKE YOU ASKED FOR.'

'Does the towel bother you, Potter?' he replied, laying his long pale fingers over the knot at his hip. 'Do you think I'm sexually harassing you again? Want an excuse to run back to your office and have a cup of tea and a lie-down?'

'You know what? Yes. I'd love a cup of tea and a lie-down, you ungrateful brat. Instead I'm stuck here with you until you go to bed. So if you can stop being a dick and just act like a normal person for the next few hours, I'd be eternally grateful.' _And, also, if you'd let me kiss you. For science._

'Well, did you order tea?'

Harry blinked. He hadn't thought of that. 'No.'

Malfoy sighed. 'Well then floo the front desk and have your nana nap and unbunch your fucking panties, Potter, you seem a bit tense.' He turned away and sauntered over to his bag, rifling through it with his back turned. He had a well-shaped arse. Good musculature. Objectively, of course. Harry wondered what his own arse looked like in a towel. He'd never really thought about his own arse before. He was in relatively good shape, so it wasn't wobbly or anything. Maybe he could ask Hermione. He started thinking about how that might go when the arse he was observing turned and became a crotch again. _Shit. The crotch is on the same side as the eyes! Act normal!_

'Do you want a cup of tea?' he asked, just as Malfoy's head popped out the top of a plain white t-shirt. _Phew_.

'No, do you want to stop being a perve and turn around so I can get dressed?'

'No, do you want to get dressed in the bathroom like a normal person?'

'No, I want to get dressed in MY hotel room like a normal person.'

'Maybe you shouldn't have tried to sneak back into England then.'

'I didn't sneak,' Malfoy huffed, tugging a soft grey woollen hoody on over his shirt. 'I was invited.'

'By who?'

'That's a story for when I have trousers on, Potter, turn around.'

Harry complied, and was happy to have a fireplace to shove his blushing face in while there was a semi-naked, international Quidditch-playing, rather fit former nemesis standing behind him while he, himself, was bent over on his hands and knees with his head shoved in a fireplace and a tube of lubricant in his pocket.

 

***

 

The story came out over tea and wine and a round of WhitchWizard?, a game that resembled Muggle Cluedo more than anything else, but with the distinction of graphic re-enactments of every grisly murder possibility that was posited. Gone were the rope and the revolver and the lead pipe, instead there were potions and spells and the particularly nasty 'murder by hippogriff' option. Harry won the first game, Malfoy called him a swot and demanded a rematch, which Harry also won. The real-life tension Harry had felt from being stuck in a room with his former rival had dissolved and been replaced with a competitive sort of camaraderie.

It turned out the manager of the England Squad had invited Malfoy over to meet the team when their starting seeker had requested maternity leave at the same time the reserve had been offered a starting position with Ireland. It left a season's contract open to the most promising up-and-comer from a regional team, or, if the manager was going to get his way, it left it open for stealing Draco Malfoy back from the French. 

At this stage, it wasn't clear if he would get his way. 

'Why would I leave a three year starting contract for a one year starting contract?'

'I suppose,' Harry sipped his tea and rested his head against the pile of pillows on the bed. 'Don't you miss England, though?'

'My father's in jail, my mother's in Paris as often as she's here, the weather in Wiltshire is awful, the wine is full of preservatives, the press are likely dying to drag me through the mud again, and I'd have to bloody well come out again, apparently, since no one here seems to care enough to gossip about me. It's not exactly a golden opportunity.'

'If England's such a shithole, why are you even considering it?'

'Personal reasons.'

Harry turned his head without raising it, his cheek pressing against the smooth cotton of the pillow. Malfoy was sitting cross-legged an arms length away and pulling lint bobbles off his socks. He looked oddly vulnerable without his acerbic wit and nasty scowl to protect him.

'What did you do?' Harry asked.

'What makes you so sure I did something?'

'A lifetime of poor decision making?'

'I-' Malfoy's scowl came back. 'Fuck you, Potter.'

Harry smiled and took another sip of his tea. 'You wish,' he muttered, feeling very brave and very tired, and very much like he _could_ say it, and nothing bad would happen. Was there something in the tea? Were they friends now, after dinner and boardgames? Is that all it would've taken all these years?

'What? Because I'm gay and you're the boy who lived, I _must_ fancy you?' Malfoy took a sip of his wine. 'I have standards, Potter.'

'So do I.'

'Not according to Witch Weekly.'

Harry froze with his bottom lip on his tea cup, his gut having apparently just fallen through his spine, the bed, the floor, and landed somewhere in the room below if the horrifying squirming feeling inside him was anything to go by. Fucking Evan Hinkchingle. 

Harry slowly let his eyes drift over to Malfoy's smirking face. 'Please don't make a big deal out of this.'

'Out of you snogging some Brummy reprobate in a shitty bar in Essex? Of course not, why would that need explaining? That's totally normal behaviour for you.'

'It might be,' Harry grasped desperately for something to hang on to in his mind. Some non-lunatic reason for kissing a guy in a bar that wasn't _'it was an experiment to see if I liked it and I didn't but apparently that was his fault so now I want to kiss you and see if it's different'._

'Not likely,' Malfoy said, seeming far too confident for Harry's liking. 'There's no way the British wizarding media would've ignored that delightful line of gossip about their saviour.'

'How would you know if they hadn't?'

'Because my mother developed an unhealthy affection for you after she saved your life and you kept her out of prison.' Malfoy smiled ruefully. 'She sent me the clipping. I rather wish she hadn't.'

'I rather wish a lot of things right now,' Harry sighed and put his cup down on the bedside table so he could smother himself with a pillow. 'Fuuuuck,' he screamed into it. 

'Why are you freaking out, Potter? I'm not judging you for kissing a man. Just for kissing _that_ man, in _that_ bar, in _Essex_.'

'I'm judging me too!' Harry shouted into the pillow, which muffled his despair and his words very effectively. 'But I had to know if I-' the pillow was ripped away from his face. '-Liked it.'

'You _liked_ it?' Malfoy looked at him with scornful disbelief. 'He got unanimously slated by ten different people. One girl said kissing him was like having your face eaten by a giant sentient flobberworm. What's _wrong_ with you?'

'No, no,' Harry rolled onto his knees and tried to rescue his pillow. 'That's not what I said.'

'What did you say?' Malfoy asked, holding it out of reach over the side of the bed. 'Can you remember or have you been overcome with memories of your flobberworm lover?'

Good god, he was irritating. What an absolute bastard. 'I said, I needed to know if I liked it, okay?' Harry reached again for the pillow. 'Give it back, Malfoy!' he demanded in his best authoritative voice. 

'Or what, Auror Potter - you going to arrest me for stealing my own pillow?' Malfoy countered, holding the pillow behind him now, wine glass still delicately resting in his other hand. 

Harry lunged, reaching over Malfoy's shoulder to try and grab the frilly edge of the pillowcase. On a solid surface that would've been fine. The knee he slid forward to balance on wouldn't have made the mattress dip, and Malfoy wouldn't have panicked and over-corrected, trying not to spill his wine, tipping backwards in a controlled fall that saw him lying on the very edge of the giant bed, wine glass held aloft and pillow grasped in both of their hands, hanging there in the gaping space above the squishy carpeted floor. If they'd been on that floor Harry wouldn't have landed on top of him, barely able to brace himself with the other arm that wasn't holding the pillow tight in his fist. His elbow, bent at a weird angle, started to shake. He could feel Malfoy's breath on his face, smell the sharp scent of red wine on his lips. Harry opened his eyes to find grey ones staring back at him. _Find out._ Now seemed like a good time. He willed his elbow to hold on a little longer, and dragged himself forward an inch. Just enough to line up their mouths, just enough to feel his rapidly swelling cock press against something hot and soft and hear the tiny noise of acknowledgement rasp out of Malfoy's throat before he kissed him. 

Malfoy's lips were warm and soft, his mouth a nice normal sort of moist, and there was confidence and control and an absolute lack of surprise at being kissed that made Harry's heart race. There was tongue, artfully tracing the shape of his bottom lip, gently caressing his own in an ever-increasing rhythm, deeper and filthier at every pass, Harry matching him with ease and, _Jesus_ …

This was nothing like Evan Hunkladle. It was nothing like a shitty bar, and nothing like Essex. It was all of the goodness and sweetness and excitement of kissing Ginny that first time in the middle of the common room with everyone watching, but with darker tones, an edge of fear, a _desperate_ quality that made every tiny movement feel like the last thing he would feel before he died, and he'd have to die, now, because his heart couldn’t go this fast and live. Every ounce of pleasure was heightened by the expectation for it to be over in a split second, to have his breath ripped out of him.

But it didn't stop. Even when there was a crack above his ear that sounded a lot like glass, and a shattering splash off to his right, and Malfoy's hands were suddenly on him, but they weren't pushing him away. Without thinking about it, he dropped the pillow and buried his fingers in soft white-blonde hair instead, holding them close as hands caressed his back, smooth strokes from tailbone to shoulders and back again.

Breathe, he needed to breathe. He shifted his weight back slightly, his hips pressing down harder between Malfoy's thighs, eliciting a groan from both of them. He gasped for air as he felt teeth scrape down his neck. This seemed pretty definitive. He'd have to call Charlie. Later. Much, much later.

Legs moved under him and a firm hand pushed at his chest, flipping him onto his back before he was smothered again in warm muscle and strong limbs and wandering hands. He cursed all their layers of clothing as he clutched at the soft woollen jumper above him, wondering if he was allowed under it.

The hot mouth on his neck came back to claim his lips, soft tongue probing and teeth nipping, and this was nothing like anything, ever. Malfoy was straddling his hip, a thigh thrust between his legs, gently rocking in time with their kisses. Harry could feel… everything. 

And then nothing as he felt Malfoy pull away.

He opened his eyes, unaware they'd even been shut. He was panting and achingly hard, his heart thudding and his lips tingling.

'So…' Malfoy said, his hair dishevelled and his eyes blown wide. 'Did you like it?'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Did I What

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter what happened last night, Harry has a job to do. Only, it's getting very difficult to concentrate on. Not to worry, everyone else is having trouble too. Maybe he shouldn't have worn such tight jeans.  
> ***  
> 

'So…' Malfoy said. 'Did you like it?'

Harry wished he hadn't dropped the pillow. If he had it in his hand still he could have clobbered Malfoy across his smug face with it.

'Did I  _ like _ it?' he said instead. 

Well, he did, and there was that, but there was also the thing that he didn't consider before he decided to actually  _ find out _ and that was how to deal with a purring Draco Malfoy who thought he'd got one over on him, when he hadn't. It was completely insignificant that his pounding erection was because of Malfoy. Apparently any half-competent kisser could've done the same. And  _ fuck _ Evan Hunkfuckle for not being competent enough for this to have happened in the relative privacy of the Wetherspoons in some shitty part of Essex where the only people watching were supportive friends or maliciously invasive reporters.

Harry didn't wait for an answer, and instead rolled away from the stupid blonde git and off the bed, two feet landing firmly on the carpet. He wished he had his Auror robes so he could hide his embarrassing and persistent arousal from scrutiny. But it would be fine, he could Apparate straight onto his own doorstep. He scanned the room for his possessions.

'You  _ seemed _ like you liked it,' came a petulant voice from behind him. 'But what would I know? Clearly I've misjudged your sense of  _ fun _ , Potter.'

'You've a reputation for making poor judgements,' Harry shot back, grabbing his boots out from where they've fallen partly under the bed. 'Don't stop trying though, personal development is a thing.' He tugged on one boot, then the other, not bothering to zip them up. He stood and spun, immediately worried when he didn't see his wand anywhere obvious. 

'Some things don't really leave themselves open to misinterpretation,' Malfoy said from the edge of his vision, blatantly smirking at Harry's tented trousers. 

_ There it is. _ Harry picked up his wand from the similarly coloured wooden nightstand where it had been hiding and turned his most professionally commanding look on Malfoy.

'Don't leave this room until I come and get you in the morning. Don't let anyone in. Don't eat or drink anything without checking it for spells or potions first. And don't fucking floo  _ Witch Weekly _ the second I leave, or so help me, I will find ten people who will happily tell the world you kiss like a dementor and I may never feel happy again.'

The last thing he heard as he turned on the spot to Disapparate was, 'Are these your cufflinks?'

He popped into existence on the stoop of 12 Grimmauld Place and thanked his brain for being slow enough in processing Malfoy's last words that he didn't splinch himself. But then, maybe he should thank his penis for stealing all the good blood away from his other important organs. He patted his pockets and despaired that his hip seemed oddly smooth and flat. Warm. He could feel his own flesh and nothing else. He thrust his hand into his pocket and there were, indeed, no cufflinks there. More disturbingly, and exactly as he feared, there was also no small tube there. He scanned the ground at his feet, hoping. Nope. Nothing. 

'Fuck,' he said to his front stoop.

Unlocking the door, he tried to think of a legitimate reason for having sexual lubricant in his pocket that would be appropriate for work. Something that had nothing to do with actual sex, and one hundred percent nothing to do with Malfoy. Long-lasting moisturiser? Hipster Beard Balm? Covertly packaged Unlocking Gel for stubborn keyholes? Hell, maybe Malfoy was stupid and he would think it really was 'wand polish' like the tube said. The animated cock on the packet might make him think twice though. Not even Malfoy was that dumb. Not about cocks anyway. He seemed like he might be something of an expert.

Maybe Ron would have some ideas. Not that he could tell him he'd kissed Malfoy. Certainly not while asking him how to justify random pocket lube. 

Harry trudged down to the kitchen and unloaded all the letters from his pocket. Deirdre was going to be a very busy owl tomorrow. 

He was just fossicking through half-empty bags of chips and roasted nuts, looking for owl treats and waiting for the kettle to boil when the floo bell rung and the fireplace erupted in green flames.

'Harry?' came a familiar voice. 'Are you there?'

'Charlie?' Harry pulled his head out of the cupboard.

'How'd it go?' Charlie's face was filled with an unholy glee and there were too many things to say all of a sudden. The satisfaction of now  _ knowing _ and the shameful dread of seeing Malfoy tomorrow warred for dominance. 'Did it work?'

'It definitely worked,' Harry sighed, as he dropped a teabag in a mug and waiting the last few moments for the kettle to finish, wondering where to start. 'Do you want to come through? Have a cup of tea?'

'I'm really not dressed for company, sorry.' Charlie hedged, not looking sorry at all. 'I can wait til Sunday dinner?'

'No, please,' Harry held up one quelling hand while he poured his tea with the other. 'I have a new problem as well,' he said, giving Charlie a wry smile and grabbing the bottle of milk out of his (very stubbornly Muggle) fridge on his way to the hearth. He settled himself with his brewing tea, milk bottle, spoon and an irritated, unfed owl watching him. 'I left something behind afterwards.'

'After what, exactly?' 

'After I… kissed Malfoy.' It sounded a lot more real saying it to another person. He'd kissed  _ Malfoy _ . Ugh.

'You kissed him? And?'

'And it… was better than the last time. In Essex. And I think I like men,' Harry nodded to himself. 'I know. I  _ know _ I like men.'

'And?'

'And what?'

'You flooed me six hours ago… did you kiss him for six hours?'

'No!' Harry recoiled. 'Like, maybe a minute. Or two. Not more than five.' Time was hard to quantify when you were very busy doing something that managed to qualify as life-affirming and horrifying at the same time. There was a tiny thrill that materialised at the memory and ricocheted around his stomach before being violently destroyed by self-doubt.

'What were you doing for the rest of the time, then?' Charlie looked curious. And slightly hopeful.

'Nothing weird. We ate. Drank some wine, which I didn't like, not even the rosé, which Draco called 'entry level wine' and said was mostly for teenage girls trying to look sophisticated. Then we played board games. Then we just talked, I guess.' Harry shrugged. 'I had a cup of tea.'

'When did you kiss him?'

'After the cup of tea. He stole my pillow.'

'So there was a pillow fight?'

'No… there was a short altercation over the rightful guardianship of a pillow.'

'Then what?'

'I came home.'

'Harry, mate, this sounds a lot like a date.'

'It most definitely wasn't a date.'

'You decide you want to kiss someone, so you have dinner with them, hang out playing board games and talking for six hours, then you kiss them and you come home.'

'It wasn't a date.'

'Does he know that?'

'Yes. I was  _ guarding _ him. It's my job.'

'Are you guarding him tomorrow?'

'Yes,' Harry groaned. 'And…That's why I have a new problem.' Charlie raised an eyebrow and said nothing. Harry redirected his gaze to the hem of his trousers, playing with the fabric and trying to remember what Gryffindor courage felt like. 'I may have had a small tube of Wicked Willie's Wand Polish in my pocket.' There was a gasp from the fireplace. 'And when I got home it was no longer in my pocket. It… slipped out, so to speak.'

' _ Harry! _ ' Charlie seemed blissfully scandalised. 'I'd ask what it was for but I'm pretty sure I know.'

'It wasn't like that! I just- room service kept asking me if I wanted anything else and I just kept ordering things, and then they asked me if I "needed anything special" and it just… came out. And then, on the bed, when we rolled over, it must've fallen out of my pocket, and… I'm so fucked, Charlie. What do I do?'

There was a sigh from the fireplace and a long, thoughtful silence. Harry squeezed out his teabag and added milk, stirring til there was a small brown whirlpool that perfectly resembled his life. 

'How did Malfoy take all of this?'

'He asked me if I liked it, like he’d granted me some monumental favour,' Harry said, his voice somewhat subdued by his growing misery. 'He'd seen the article in  _ Witch Weekly _ and I accidentally told him what Essex was about, and, yeah.'

'What did you say when he asked you?'

'I didn't answer. I left.'

' _ Awk _ ward.'

'He was being all smug and proud of himself and it was… embarrassing.'

'Should he be, you know,' Charlie cocked an eyebrow suggestively.  _ 'Proud of himself _ ?' 

'A bit. I guess. I was… ' Harry clicked what Charlie meant. 'What? No. I didn't  _ see _ anything.' 

'Well, that gives you a target for tomorrow.'

' _ Charlie _ .' 

'Best be going, Harry, go finish your tea.' He grinned. 'I'll talk to you tomorrow?'

'Charlie! What do I do about the lube?'

'Ask him to demonstrate how to use it!' and he was gone, the green flames dying in the hearth.

'Shit,' Harry said to the grate.

'Hoo,' Deirdre said.

'I wish I was an owl,' he said to her. 'You have it easy.'

Deirdre shit on the floor, inadvertently smearing faeces on her perch.

'I suppose there is that,' Harry agreed, and got to his feet, collecting his tea things. He returned the milk, binned the teabag and placed the spoon in the sink. 'What the hell are we going to eat, Deirdre?'

 

***

 

Ruffled and dusted in soot, Harry and his geriatric owl stepped out of Hermione and Ron's fireplace to an audience of four, all eyes trained on the sad little pair of them.

'Harry?' Hermione asked. 'Are you okay?'

'Could you feed us?' he asked pitifully. 'I've run out of food and M&S doesn't stock mice.'

Ron and his sister snorted but didn't comment. Neville looked confused. 'Tesco's definitely has mice,' he offered.

'Hey Nev, Gin, Ron,' Harry said as he unswaddled Deirdre from her travel blanket. 'How's it going?' He looked around at the half-empty wine glasses and felt decidedly left out. Not that he liked wine, but this all looked much nicer than sitting at home on the floor and thinking of all the horrendous things that might happen tomorrow now that Malfoy knew far more about him that was wise to allow with someone so… Slytherin-y.

'Where were you after work? I tried to floo you,' Ron said. 'Mum made extra lasagne.' 

That was nice, that helped a little. Ron was a good mate. If Ron found lube on Harry's person he would never, ever mention it.

'I was on assignment.'

'All day?' Neville said. 'You've been gone since nine this morning. What did Robards give you?'

There were frowns around the table. 

'Twelve hours is a really long day, Harry,' Hermione said from behind him. 'That doesn't seem like safe practice. What were you doing?'

He wondered if he could tell them. Technically they weren't 'approved personnel' so he couldn't reveal his real mission, but the the assignment did say that if he was asked, he was to make it look as though Malfoy was here socially… with Harry. Which, actually, wasn't going to work on these four no matter how much wine they'd had. Which only left one option, really.

'I can't tell you,' he said. 'I'm not allowed.'

'A secret assignment?!' Neville sounded jealous and Harry almost laughed at the irony. 

'I guess.'

'You don't seem overly pleased about it…' Ginny ventured.

'I am not  _ remotely _ pleased about it,' he agreed. 'It's really good for my career though.'  _ And my big gay awakening… Though not entirely gay. Ginny's still hot. My big bisexual awakening.  _ Hermione sat a plate of warmed lasagne down in front of him then though, and he was saved from further internalising by concentrating on his food, comforted by the sound of Deirdre ripping at something meaty on the floor by the cat dish.

Conversation resumed as though Harry wasn't there, which was a relief, since the only thing on his mind was something he couldn't talk about. He finished his food, drank half a glass of red wine, which was still revolting, but might help him sleep, and bid his own goodbyes when Ginny and Neville got up to leave at 10:15. Ron gave him a wistful look and said something about exciting Auror missions, and to try not to get in any trouble -  _ too late for that _ \- and Hermione had another go at fretting about his work hours, which came with a tight hug and a promise to feed him tomorrow night as well.

He didn't have the heart to wake Deirdre from her spot on the floor so he just wrapped the blanket around her a bit so she wouldn't get cold and left alone, tumbling back into his dreary kitchen.

He considered showering, decided he couldn't be bothered standing up anymore, and went to bed instead, barely managing to put pyjamas on and find some woolly socks to keep his feet from freezing off before he lost all will to carry on and crawled face first under his covers and screamed his frustration into his nice squishy mattress. It muffled his voice poorly compared to the hotel pillow and Walburga eventually woke up and joined him in shrieking. Well that was just about perfect. Too quickly, and to the sound of unholy screaming, Harry fell asleep, completely submerged in quilts and accidentally-on-purpose not setting an alarm for the morning. 

 

At 6.33 he awoke anyway, suddenly and from a dream that made him feel hollow and weird. It seemed to involve people running away from him while he tried fruitlessly to kiss them, because kissing them would save them from unnamed doom. There was a general sense of injustice that flittered persistently in his chest even after he'd been awake and breathing heavily for a few minutes, trying to extricate himself from the mass of bed linen above him. There may have also been a flash of blonde amongst the kissing attempts, just out of reach of his memory. 

The adrenaline from the semi-nightmare and also from waking up smothered in seventy pounds of fabric was enough to ensure he didn't need an alarm at least, and he was showered and dressed in his usual attire, minus his red Auror robes, well before he needed to be at the hotel to fetch Malfoy. 

_ Malfoy _ . His stomach turned, and he was treated to a bevy of mental images and feelings from yesterday that made his pants feel too tight. It wasn't a semi, it was his pants that weren't working properly. He shouldn't be wearing this get-up anyway, he was meant to look casual. He sighed and took off his waistcoat, and his nice trousers, and wondered if he could get away with the shirt if he was wearing jeans. Probably not. He took that off too. Standing in pants and socks he flicked through his wardrobe. Most of it had barely been worn. He'd hosted a ritual burning of literally everything they'd taken 'camping' in 7 th year, which in his case had been most of what he owned that wasn't school robes or Weasley jumpers. In finding himself then without clothes, Ginny had taken him shopping, spent a lot of his money on skinny jeans and slim fit t-shirts, which he had apparently looked 'hot' in, though evidently not hot enough for her to stick around. A few weeks later he'd got into Auror training and spent the rest of his life up 'til now either in a suit and robes or MLE-issued trackies and a t-shirt that had his name across the back, and London Auror Academy across the front. Except for the weekends when he barely made it out of his pyjamas. What an exciting life he led.

He selected grey jeans, a bottle green t-shirt and a black hoody that would do fine in this weather and tossed them on the bed. He considered them. No, too pro-Slytherin. Malfoy didn't need any help with his superiority complex. He was already going to spend the day poking fun at Harry's pathetic grasp of his own sexuality, teasing him about his uncontrollable erection and romantic jumper-clutching and naively optimistic lube-carrying. He swapped the t-shirt out for a burgundy one. Better. He re-adjusted his boxer briefs, also a product of Ginny's makeover, which were feeling increasingly claustrophobic for some reason. But absolutely, definitely not because he was remembering the kissing. Probably just because they'd shrunk a bit in the wash. He wasn't good at washing with magic. (He was begrudgingly excellent at doing all manner of household chores the Muggle way, but he refused on principle). 

He dressed himself and took a look in the mirror. Switched from his serious wire-framed glasses to his more fashionable black-framed ones. Put on his sensible Auror boots. He looked fine. Casual enough to satisfy his orders, but tidy enough Malfoy wouldn't tell him he looked like a peasant. Not that- okay… he did  _ kind of _ care what Malfoy thought of his outfit. Not because… but just, if… well. There was no sense in making Malfoy feel, and inevitably act, regretful about letting Harry kiss him, on top of all the other anticipated teasing. Yesterday's outfit was smart and professional and Millie had assured him he looked like a grown up in it. That's the man Malfoy had let kiss him. If he turned up today looking like a slob and saw the remorse on Draco's stupid posh face, Harry might have to punch him, and then Robards would be very, very mad. Hmm. Interesting. He took a good look at his own crotch. Thinking of his boss seemed to solve the pants fitting problem. Small mercies.

Harry made it downstairs in a more reasonable mood. He remembered he had no food upon reaching the kitchen, and turned around and went straight out the front door, grabbing Sirius' old dragonhide jacket off the hook just inside when he noticed how wrong he'd been about the weather. It  _ was _ cold. There were still hints of frost under the hedge. No matter. Millie insisted layering was 'in'. 

Deciding on pastries and coffee, Harry Apparated from his doorstep to Diagon Alley, procured two mochas and four danishes - two cherry, two apricot -  and for an extra knut got the girl to put them all in one of the fancy bags that held the cups upright and kept the coffee safe inside. He put the lot of it under stasis to keep warm, and Apparated into the atrium at the Ministry. He could check in with the other Rookies, make sure his orders hadn't changed while praying that they had, and be back at the hotel in plenty of time if he still had to be. With Malfoy.  _ Malfoy _ . Fuck. How could he work alongside him today when all he could think about was how much he enjoyed kissing him while the twat just found the whole thing quaintly amusing. And all that was after Harry had teased him about sexual harassment…  _ Oh god. _

No, it was fine. They were consenting adults. Harry had very unprofessionally kissed him, but Malfoy hadn't seemed to mind. There was little to no chance he'd have reported it to Robards… was there? Was that enough to get him fired? It's not like Harry had taken advantage. Malfoy wasn't…  _ drunk and in his care. _ FUCK. How had this not occurred to him at all in the last 11 hours? How had he been so hung up on the emotional implications of kissing his former nemesis, of liking it, and thus obviously liking men, and thus obviously being… into men, but it hadn't occurred to him that the whole thing went completely against protocol? What kind of idiot was he? Robards would  _ kill him _ . And unlike Voldemort, he'd probably succeed. Or at least, this time it'd probably be permanent. Though that would solve the issue of having to face Malfoy again... And anyway, if he got fired, so what? It's not like he needed the money. And he'd get to eat all four of the danishes. Okay. Time to go get sacked. Maybe. If Malfoy had said something.

He got out of the lift and listened for incensed yelling. Nothing. He checked his desk, found two memos that he quickly deemed free of the words, 'Malfoy', 'sexually violated' and 'disciplinary action', and scooped them up, continuing on to the break room.

Lisa and Sparker were there, heads bent over piles of parchment and steaming mugs of shitty coffee at their sides. Sparker reached for hers and caught sight of Harry over the rim as she sipped. Her eyes went wide and she choked a little, her hand going to cover her mouth as she cleared her throat. Lisa looked up at her from her own work, peered hesitantly into her own full mug and sighed.

'Is it that bad today?' she asked.

'It's  _ always _ that bad,' Harry said. Lisa turned and he suddenly had two girls staring at him, eyes wide. He stopped a couple of metres away from the table. 'What?'

'What in the ever-loving fuck are you wearing?' Lisa said. 

'Clothes?' Harry hoped.

'Where are your robes?'

'I was told to dress casually. For my assignment.'

'Is your assignment seducing a well-positioned but reluctant potential informant in her mid to late 40s who reads too many romance novels?'

'Er… no?'

'Then why are you wearing spray-on jeans and a leather jacket and smelling like expensive coffee and warm cherry danishes?'

'Are those your standard issue Auror boots?' Sparker asked, staring at his legs. 'They look  _ different  _ today.'

'Harry, what the fuck is your assignment?' Lisa pressed. 'Who are you being brandished at?'

'What's wrong with my jacket?' Harry whined. He didn't have time to go home and change. And he had nothing else. Everything was exactly the same but in different colours.

'Harry,' Lisa said slowly. Patiently. 'There is _nothing_ _at all_ wrong with...' She waved her hand up and down at him. '… _Any_ of this. This is _good_. It's very, very good.'

'I'm a bit confused,' Harry admitted.

'You look  _ hot _ ,' Sparker breathed.

Oh. Well, then. Maybe Ginny was right. Good. Though it probably wouldn't do to look like he was trying too hard. Didn't want to give Malfoy any ideas. Then again. Better than turning up looking like one of those tragically sheltered Pureblood wizards who hadn't quite figured out Muggle clothes.

'Why are you hot?' Lisa said, still speaking slowly. 'What are they making you do?'

'I'm.. I- I can't tell you. What my assignment is.'

'But you're sure it's not seducing someone.'

'No. I mean yes. I'm sure.'

'Well fuck, I'd hate to see you if it was,' she gave him another once over and turned back to her work.

'Thanks?' Harry sat down, careful not to put the delicious smelling breakfast things too close to the girls, and actively not noticing their appraising glances. If he was careful, he could pretend they were only staring lustily at the mochas. He read both memos, flicked off an reply to one of them and banished the other to his in-tray to deal with later. 'Have you seen Robards this morning?'

'No, are you in trouble?'

'No.'  _ Well, maybe, yes, but not with him. _

'Try his office,' Lisa said, most of her attention still on her work. 'See what he thinks of your outfit,' she smirked and looked pointedly at his thighs.

'You're making me feel really self-conscious.'

'No,' she said. 'The obvious outline of your dick in those pants is making you feel really self-conscious.'

Harry tilted his head and tried to see if she was lying. His trousers wrinkled when he moved and he couldn't tell.

'Are you serious?' he whispered.

'Would you like me to take a photo?' Sparker breathed. 'It's no trouble…'

'No,' he grabbed his bag of coffee and pastries and held it in front of his crotch. 'It's fine. I'll go.' 

He scampered out of the room and picked his way quietly across the bull pen toward Robards' office, ducking memos as they zipped through the air and not meeting anyone's eye. But of course now he imagined they were all staring at his arse.  _ Thanks Lisa. _ The door was shut, and a peek through the window showed it was empty. Good. At least he wasn't in any obvious trouble, Robards would've been lying in wait if he was. He'd just have to take that as a win and go ahead with his orders. 

To the hotel then. With Malfoy.  _ Malfoy _ . Jesus.

 

***

  
  


Harry popped into existence in room 21 still holding the bag of coffees and danishes in front of his crotch. The first thing he noticed was that there was a shattered wine glass on the floor, the red stain looking suspiciously like blood upon first seeing it. That explained at least part of last night. The second thing he noticed was the quiet. The third was the slender and almost completely motionless shape of someone under the voluminous white duvet. All this dread and the bastard wasn't even awake.

Setting the bag down on the small table between the matching armchairs, he pulled out one of the mochas and  _ finite _ 'd the magical seal that kept it from spilling. He considered his options. He could wake Malfoy and commence dealing with all of his shit. Or he could sit here, and get paid to drink coffee and eat danishes. One of those options was infinitely more attractive. Harry sat down.

The chair was very, very comfortable. It was soft and supportive and just the right height that he could leap up at a moments notice if they were attacked. A consideration that brought up a good point. Harry aimed a spell at Malfoy to make sure he was definitely alive. He was. He aimed a  _ hominum revelio _ at the room and immediate hallway. Only the two of them here. He flicked a spell at the windows and they showed no tampering. He considered for a second and did a quiet ' _ accio _ tiny basilisk' with his eyes shut and was gratified to not get hit in the face with anything. Good. Nothing to report. He pulled out a danish and bit deep into the fruity mass in the centre, warm pastry cracking and flaking down his front. He chewed contentedly and then picked up all his delicious crumbs and started the process again with a second bite. 

Just as he was about to put the last inch in his mouth, there was a sound of fabric shifting and he froze, a bite-size piece of cherry and pastry held still in his hand. Would he have time to eat it before he had to do anything? Malfoy didn't strike him as a morning person, he decided, and besides, one rustle did not a wakened man make. He ate the danish.

The slender figure under the duvet merely rolled over and stilled again, a blonde tuft of hair sticking out. Harry got bored of his mission again almost immediately, and went back to sipping his mocha, still charmed to stay warm. God, it was good. Rich with dark chocolatey flavours and silky textured milk. He sighed contentedly and searched the room for something that might amuse him while he waited. There were no books, or at least none he could see, but there was a small pile of magazines on the table, courtesy of the hotel:  _ Which Broom? _ ,  _ Magical House & Garden _ , the deplorable  _ Witch Weekly _ and one he hadn't seen before called  _ Sports Wizard _ . Interesting. He set the unfamiliar magazine on his lap and flicked it open, taking a sip of his coffee and flipping pages. It was a bit laddish, there were ads for expensive sports brands, celebrity colognes, and a smattering of women in what could only legitimately be called sports gear if the sports were 'sunbathing' or 'getting an intimate massage'. He found he didn't mind too much. Having been so focused lately on his attraction to men and the stress it brought, it was nice to look at a good, uncomplicated set of tits and imagine nuzzling his face in the middle of them. 

Flicking through, he made an effort to appreciate all the different witches and their outfits, occasionally letting himself be overcome with curiosity and taking a long, solid look at a few of the wizards. The Armenian Quidditch team was particularly engaging. A lot of heavy, brooding brow lines; strong features and dark hair setting off the bright red of their kit. Harry was so intent on figuring out if two of them were brothers and what he might do with them if they were, that he almost missed Malfoy turning again in his sleep. He peeked over the magazine and noted the new supine position gave him a better view of the other man's face, even on this angle. Flat on his back, under the particularly poofy duvet, Malfoy would've barely been visible if not for that face, relaxed and calm in sleep and a slightly warmer shade than the Arctic linens. The visible tenting towards the middle of the bed was… also rather noticeable. Harry felt his trousers tighten again. Stupid attractive Armenian Quidditch team, with their sultry expressions and muscular thighs. He ducked back behind his magazine and stared at the pair of burly beaters, trousers pulled taut beneath their leathers as they shifted in the photo, gazes fixed and intense, blatantly phallic bats hanging at their sides. Definitely into men. Not just Malfoy. 

Shit. Harry's eyes lost focus - was he  _ into _ Malfoy? Who currently had an erection and was lying in front of him, not at all aware that Harry was there. Was that creepy? Should he have waited outside?  _ Oh fuck _ , was this harassment? Looking at hot International Quidditch players in a lad mag and harbouring a semi while actively guarding another International Quidditch player while he unknowingly slept, didn't seem entirely above board, now he thought of it. 

Harry committed himself to having a bit of a panic. He'd almost decided to Apparate back out to the hall and knock immediately on the door to cover the sound of it when there was a soft, sleepy noise from the bed. It wasn't a moan exactly, more the sound of a satisfying stretch and a rustle of duvet feathers. Harry managed to control himself for about ten seconds before he chanced a look over the magazine again. The tenting had been replaced with a languid, rhythmically-moving lump. Surely not? Not in his sleep?

There was another sound, and this one was definitely more moan than anything else. It was a noise one only made when they were  _ awake _ . Harry was torn between wanting the daft bastard to open his eyes to see he wasn't alone and wishing he'd brought his invisibility cloak and that Malfoy would just keep going. And that the duvet was also invisible. And that he could… well. Make sure his hands were just as gay as his lips had been. No point wishing for nothing.

He should get out of here. But Apparating was hard from a stationary, seated position even when one wasn't woefully distracted… and doing it without an audible pop was next to impossible. Malfoy would know he'd been here, even without the sound of Apparition there was a bag of danishes on the table. There was very little Harry could do right now and while there certainly  _ were _ options, there were no  _ good _ options. There were some that were only  _ mostly _ bad, like pretending to be asleep himself and snoring a little to announce his presence. Coughing softly and staying resolutely behind his magazine until it stopped. Conjuring earmuffs and pretending he had no idea what was going on. Disillusioning himself and hoping Malfoy was one for wanking with his eyes mostly shut and then immediately leaving the room to shower. Learning to make an Animagus transformation in the next 30 seconds would be good, actually. He could turn himself into a-

'Harry…'

'What?' There was no time to consider what either of them had said, in the second after it happened. No time to register that Malfoy had said his name while fondling himself, or that he, himself, had stupidly,  _ stupidly _ answered automatically when he did. There was only time to think of something else to say that might cover the fact that he knew exactly what was going on under the covers and was in fact just sitting there freaking out about it. 'Are you finally awake, you lazy bastard? You were snoring.'

'Oh my lord, _what the_ _fuck_?'

'Don't worry, I had ear plugs,' Harry held up his empty hand as though he was holding something inexplicably tiny and precious, and then pulled it out of sight again, lest Malfoy note the lack of said earplugs, and realise Harry had actually just been sitting around listening to him  _ wank _ .

'Potter, you invasive asshole, that's not what I was worried about.'

'Well, there's nothing else you need to worry about,' Harry insisted. 'That's why I'm here. Protection from things that worry you.'

'Potter,' Malfoy took a deep breath. ' _ You _ worry me, you… you fucking weirdo.'

'I told you I'd be here at nine,' Harry sighed. It was a lie. But really, he should have told him, and after a bottle of wine to himself, Malfoy might not remember he hadn't.

'You did not.'  _ Bollocks _ .

'You'd been drinking, your memory probably isn't the most reliable,' he suggested gently.

'Oh,' Malfoy spluttered, and threw the covers back. 'So that's how we're handling last night, is it? Denial?'

Denial sounded really good. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, Harry realised he was far too tired to address yesterday's indiscretion. He tried being honest.

'I'd really like it if that was what we did, yes.'

'You're ridiculous,' Malfoy huffed, but with a tone akin to acceptance, and stalked off to the bathroom, his bobbing cock leading the way.

Harry watched him go, the fabric of Malfoy's pyjamas pulled tight across his arse. Doomed. He was doomed. He watched the door close and heard the shower come on and wondered if he had enough time for his own wank to get rid of his own erection, currently hiding under his magazine. It wasn't like it was going to go away on its own while Malfoy was all naked and slippery in the next room. 

He pointed his wand at the bathroom door and performed an intricate locking spell that would chime if someone tried to undo it, then for good measure, did the same on the main door to the hallway. Feeling safer, but overall like a filthy bastard who didn't deserve a job taking care of people, he unzipped and wriggled in his too-tight jeans till he could get his cock in hand. It was awkward, but he wouldn't need very long, he'd been wound up since last night. Just a quick one. Though some lube would be good, speed things along. Lube… He'd almost forgotten. Ah well, in for a knut… and he might as well destroy the evidence.

'Accio lube,' he uttered, keeping his voice lower than the hum of the shower. There was a scrape of plastic on wood and the tiny tube flew at him from a drawer on the opposite side of the large bed, right into his waiting hand. He looked down at it. It was half empty. He unscrewed the cap to be sure, and there it was, the seal broken and clear, slick residue in the cap. His dick got a little harder. He'd used it. Malfoy had found his lube and used it. Hadn't judged him, or been disgusted, or thrown it out, but instead had squeezed it into his hand and… well. Done what Harry was about to do. If he thought about it, that was probably what Malfoy was doing in the shower right now. Harry's cock twitched excitedly at the idea. 

Urgency, due to the chance of getting caught, along with the obvious general inclination towards the task, stopped Harry's thinking right there. He emptied the rest of the tiny tube into his hand and took hold of himself, starting with a few loose-fisted strokes to spread the lube around, swirling it up and around the head, making himself shiver, before setting up a pleasingly swift rhythm, slightly faster than normal. It was good. Really, really good. He fought the urge to draw it out and make it last longer, keeping the pace even as his wrist started to tire.

The knowledge of what was happening in the next room, combined with the intoxicating possibility of getting found in a compromising position, and the generally illicit behaviour - while he was working, and over a client, and with shared, stolen lube - it was almost overwhelming. And becoming increasingly so. Harry risked a low groan as he neared completion, daring under the circumstances, which heightened the tension nicely, so that when he heard the shower turn off, and the risk intensified tenfold, he lasted only a few fast, hard pumps of his fist before hollowing himself out and making a right mess of his nice black hoody.

'Wow,' he whispered to himself. That had been… intense. He took a few deep breaths and willed his heart to slow down. A quick cleaning charm to his jumper and his hand and he carefully bundled himself away and zipped up his jeans. He could still feel the lube under his foreskin and it was a bit too much so soon after, but he was far too sensitive right now for a cleaning charm  _ there _ . Ginny had been fabulous at them, soft and cool and gentle. His were a bit like being irradiated. Residual lube was the lesser of two evils in this instance. On which note… he took one last, fond look at the tiny tube and vanished it. 

 

***

 

They arrived at the Quidditch pitch just before ten. Malfoy had barely said a word to him, merely glared, but that was just fine. No words meant no talking about last night. Or this morning. And to think that his first thought on receiving the assignment was 'oh, that's going to be annoying'. 'Annoying' looked really good right now. Way better than 'cripplingly awkward', 'increasingly unprofessional' and 'behaving like a borderline sex-pest'. Needless to say, once the afterglow had worn off, so had his optimism.

The coach met them in the lounge purely by chance, the happy noise of the large conference room cutting off as the door swung closed behind him.

'Draco,' he beamed, holding out his hand to shake, beaming. 'Good to see you again, glad to see you got my message about the late start today.'

'You too, sir,' Malfoy's voice was formal, polite. 'Thanks for letting me know.'

Harry noted that no one had let  _ him _ know.

'People from  _ Which Broom? _ are still in there with the team,' Coach Clyde continued. 'Best stay out of sight, just in case they get gossiping too soon. You're welcome to grab a broom and make use of the pitch,' he turned to (finally) nod a welcome to Harry. 'Maybe Mr Potter will join you? You used to play at Hogwarts as well, didn't you, Mr Potter? Were you team mates?'

'I did, sir, yes,' Harry said. 'But Malfoy and I were always on different sides.'

'Oh, of course, you were a Seeker as well if I remember rightly? Youngest in a century?'

'Only by a few months,' Malfoy pointed out.

‘Fourteen,’ Harry corrected.

Coach Clyde laughed, a hearty, booming sound that Harry found a bit jarring at close range.

'I see there's a natural competitive spirit between you two,' he grinned, winking at Harry. 'I'll fetch you a snitch.' He loped off, leaving them standing alone.

Harry considered stopping him, but he had a feeling the alternative to a mildly awkward Seekers' game was horrifyingly awkward small talk, and honestly, having a quick blat around an international grade Quidditch pitch sounded pretty good. Hopefully the proffered snitch came with a broom. Though, he thought, as he looked at his boots and not at Malfoy, even if it did, he probably shouldn't be flying in this outfit. For one, he'd get it terribly sweaty and still have to sit around in it all day, and if he even needed another reason, these jeans were likely too tight for a proper broom-riding posture and he'd end up losing all feeling in his legs.

'You don't have to play, you know,' Malfoy said quietly at his side. 'I'd hate to interrupt your plans for avoiding me for as long as possible.'

'I can't avoid you,' Harry said. 'I have to keep you alive. It's kind of my job.'

'I can probably manage to both keep myself alive and catch a snitch,' Malfoy said, his trademark sneer making a brief appearance.

'I can also keep you alive and catch the snitch, if that's what you're worried about,' Harry met his eyes.

'I'm not worried about you catching the snitch,' Malfoy scoffed.

'Maybe you should be.' 

'I don't think so, Potter. When was the last time you were even on a broom?'

'When was the last time you beat me without cheating?' Harry asked pointedly.

'I can't remember,' Malfoy waved his hand airily. 'Probably sometime before my  _ International Quidditch career _ .'

There he went rubbing it in again. Bastard.  _ Cheating _ bastard, as well. At least the bickering felt normal, comforting almost.

'I don't think you ever did.'

'Now is as good a time as any to prove you wrong,' Malfoy sneered.

'Try me.'

'Deal.' Grey eyes narrowed before a single, fine eyebrow raised. 'Care to make it interesting?'

'What did you have in mind?'

'If  _ I _ win?' Malfoy drawled. It wasn't a good sign. His adult voice had mellowed and the drawl had all but gone, its return couldn't mean anything good. 'If I win, you tell  _ Witch Weekly _ you liked it.'

Shit. Well at least Harry's instinct for doom was spot on. What were his odds? He'd always been better than Malfoy at school, but Malfoy had had practice since then. But he didn't like the broom they'd lent him yesterday, and Harry could go get his Firebolt. It almost seemed fair.

'And if I win?' he asked.

'What do you want?' Malfoy asked, giving him a once over that lingered a little too long on his thigh area and brought Lisa’s previous words to mind.

'Other than for you to not tell anyone what happened last night?' Harry sighed. Then he had an idea. 'How about if I get the snitch,' he smiled, and looked Malfoy right in the eye. 'You tell  _ Which Broom? _ that I'm the better Seeker.' He watched the other man's face tighten. ' _ And _ that you stole my signature move.'

'It wasn't yours to steal,' Malfoy rolled his eyes. 'The Wronski Feint is Krum's signature move.'

'Now, now, boys,' came Coach Clyde's voice as he appeared behind them. 'If we're talking truth here, the Wronski Feint is Josef Wronski's signature move,' he dropped the snitch in Malfoy's hand. 'Everyone else is just imitating.'

'Of course you're right, Clyde,' Malfoy agreed. Harry wondered when he'd become to sort of person who could admit fault so easily. 'Now, do you happen to have a quill and parchment? We've made a wager and I'd like to make it magically binding.' Good lord, of course he did. Nothing would likely please him more than having Harry forced to publicly declare his enjoyment of something so terribly private. Not to mention the inevitably positive effect it would have on Malfoy's own reputation. Maybe there was another thing he could've done to redeem himself after the war. Maybe a tell all exclusive: 'The Chosen One Chose Me' would've done it. 'The Saviour Who Snogged Me'. 'The Boy Who Lived to Love a Death Eater'.

'Clyde, I don't suppose you happen to have any spare kit?' Harry asked. 'I don't think I'm properly dressed for kicking his arse.'

'Sorry, Mr Potter,’ Clyde chuckled. ‘We're made to order around here - only the best for our national squad, you understand.'

'Of course, back soon,' and he clamped a hand around Malfoy's wrist and pulled him through space, depositing him squarely on the front step of Grimmauld Place.

'Fucking hell, Potter, must you?' Malfoy slumped forward, hands on knees.

'I figured I owed you one from yesterday.'

Harry pressed his palm flat to the door to unlock it and pushed through into the entryway while Malfoy stayed there, hunched over and trying to keep his danishes where he'd put them. 

"Way to de-escalate, genius.'

'Worth it,' Harry said and left him on the doorstep. His Gryffindor kit was somewhere in the back of his closet, and hopefully still an okay fit. The knitted jumper would be fine, his shoulders had reached maximum breadth around 5 th year, and the rest of it could stretch to accomodate any new musculature Auror training had provided him with. The robes themselves probably weren't necessary in this weather, the leathers were adjustable, and his boots would obviously be fine - he hadn't changed shoe size since he was 13. It was really only the trousers that might be iffy. There was a decent bit of stretch to the thick fabric, and the lacing would give him some leeway around the waist, it was just… they'd probably be quite form-fitting. Maybe he should wear the outer robes just for modesty's sake. They did create drag though, and the weather had been getting steadily warmer as the sun rose higher. No point overheating. Milton Keynes was far milder than the Scottish weather they'd been designed for. And really, they probably wouldn’t be any worse than these jeans.

Harry shrugged carefully out of his dragonhide jacket and hung it reverently on the back of the bedroom door, tugging his hoody off over his head and flinging it less adoringly on the bed. He opened both wardrobe doors to their full extent and considered _ accio _ 'ing his gear, then remembered what had happened last time (37 coathangers stuck in one jumper), and dove in manually instead. It was dark and vast and by the time he got back to the second rail of clothes he was pretty much just feeling around for thick wool and sniffing for leather conditioner. After much scrabbling, an emotional discovery of one of Ginny's abandoned lacy underthings and a near miss on falling in, his fingers closed around a familiar sleeve. He tugged on it and the whole kit came out in a jumble of coat hangers all hooked together anyway. At least it looked clean.

He peeled his nice burgundy t-shirt off over his head, slung it over the wardrobe door and unzipped his jeans, before remembering that they weren't  going to make it over his boots. He'd made that mistake before as well (he'd fallen over, got knocked out on the bedpost and was discovered unconscious with his pants around his ankles by Aurors). He bent double and set to work on the various buckles strapped tight around his calves, some he worked open with his fingers, some were designed to only come loose with a silent wandless charm. He unzipped the final closure, toed them off and kicked them to the side. He'd just slipped his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, was just starting to slide them down past his hips when-

'Is this the part where I accidentally say something so you know I'm here?' came a voice. Harry whipped around, summoning his wand instinctively, coming into a defensive stance, shirtless and with the front of his jeans hanging open. The discreet outline of his cock was a distant memory, his actual cock suddenly a lot less hinted at and a lot more right there in front of everyone under a thin, tight layer of stretchy cotton. Malfoy was leaning casually against the window sill, ankles crossed and a pointed smirk painted on his face. 'I'm happy to pretend I was looking for the bathroom instead of watching you undress if it makes it less uncomfortable. I figure I owe you one as well.'

'Jesus, Malfoy,' Harry breathed, his heart pounding. He desperately wanted to cover himself up but drawing attention to his current state of undress would only indicate the fact that, yet again, Malfoy seemed to have got the upper hand. Some Auror he was, being snuck up on like an absolute amateur. 'What do you want?'

'Are you really going to sign our wager?' He asked. 'A magically binding contract?'

'Yes.' That wasn't the question Harry would've been expecting if he'd time to expect anything. But it was one he was, he reflected, prepared to answer.

'You'll tell  _ Witch Weekly _ I was better than Evan Hitchmingle?' Malfoy looked dubious and hopeful all at once. No doubt plotting how he could use any new-found notoriety. Maybe an informative set of pamphlets or a book deal. Maybe the wizarding world had a lecture circuit he could lower the tone of. 'Draco Malfoy: Kissing Genius'. 'The Boy Who Kissed The Boy Who Lived'. 'Dr Draco's  _ How to Snog a Celebrity and Make Them Like It _ '.

'You're assuming a lot.'

'You're not denying it,' Malfoy smirked, and straightened up, pushing away from the window sill and taking an easy step toward Harry and his unfastened trousers. 'Besides, panel of experts, flobberworm, remember?' 

'You're assuming  _ you'll win _ ,' Harry clarified, not being able to stop himself from folding his arms across his chest, even though he knew it would look defensive. On the upside he knew it also made the musculature of his arms look more impressive. He wondered if the enormous amount of tension he was feeling was having any such effect on the rest of him. He concentrated on his abs, clenching slightly, and Malfoy's eyes dropped instantly, blatantly raking up his torso without an ounce of shame.

'I am,' he smirked again and sauntered closer, not stopping until he was right up in Harry's space, with his radiant warmth, and hungry eyes, and that inextricable scent of citrus.

'You're very confident,' Harry said, wishing he was himself. It was hard to be this close and not remember, but every sweet memory came with the cold slap of reality. The clinical observations after the fact, the amusement that Harry might not know his own desires without someone else's assistance, the implication that he was generally rubbish at being bisexual. Draco was so relentlessly cocky at times like this and it took the wind out of his sails every time.

'I am.' Malfoy took a step closer, near enough that Harry couldn't see him all at once, that he had to look at each piece of him individually. His jaw, pale and smooth; his collar bone, barely visible beneath his jumper. The way his hair fell, just so, sweeping across his forehead, brushing the tips of his ears, delicate rounded shells and plump, pink lobes, begging to be bitten. Eyelashes, long and pale.

'You're very  _ close _ ,' Harry breathed. And why was he? Why was he  _ here _ , inches from the same person he'd mocked only last night? Why was he back in range of Harry's clumsy, hopeless efforts at figuring himself out… if he wasn't intrigued by  _ something _ ?

'Yes.'

'Why?' Harry wondered aloud. Malfoy couldn't be curious about himself, he knew he was gay and probably knew quite well how he liked it; hard and fast or slow and smooth, rough, gentle, violent, passionate, restrained, unbridled, top or bottom or both or neither, there was nothing left to ponder. Harry was the one still lacking data. 

'It's wise to know as much as possible about your opponent. How they think, how they move.' His blonde head tilted slightly to the side, hair shifting across his brow as pale eyes fixed themselves on his, lips parted and edging closer. 'What makes them tick…  _ what they like _ .'

'Malfoy,' Harry breathed, right before his lips were crushed in a blinding kiss that melted his insides and rendered his knees incapable for long seconds before they locked instinctively, holding him upright. The pressure he felt against his nearly naked body, the long fingers that gripped his bared hips, the way Malfoy pulled at him, bending him backward slightly, using his superior height to dominate every movement. As if it were enjoyable to do so. Harry gasped for air. 'Did  _ you _ like it?'

' _ Of course I did. _ '

  
  



	3. Of Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A line has been crossed. Professionalism is out and Quidditch is in. A bet is made. Someone goes down, hard. And then what happens?  
> ***  
> 

'Malfoy, did _you_ like it?'

'Of course I did.' He leaned down again, claiming Harry's mouth, consuming every curve of his lips with controlled enthusiasm.

'But. Why?' Harry breathed between kisses.

'Why?' Malfoy pulled back to look at him.

'I have no idea what I'm doing… with men. With you,' Harry swallowed. 'You know I've never…'

'Yes,' Malfoy purred. 'It's kind of nice to see you on the back foot for once. Not being omnipotent.' He ran a hand up the side of Harry's ribs. 'I like being much better than you at something.'

'It's not a competition. You don't need to win at everything.'

'No,' Malfoy agreed. 'It's just sex. So stop talking and maybe we'll _both_ win,' long fingers threaded through Harry's hair as he closed in again.

'Er…'

'What?' Malfoy sighed, letting him go. 'Oh, for goodness' sake, Potter. You don't want that, do you?' he sighed. 'You want to fall in love and get married and adopt babies, you _puritan_.'

'I'd just rather not be someone's quickie and end up with it spread all over the gossip columns,' Harry said. 'It's going to be hard enough coming out to all of Britain without it being a sordid fuckfest.'

'But a sordid fuckfest sounds so _fun_ .' Malfoy applied his mouth to Harry's neck, pushed him back onto the bed and the sensible thoughts started to trickle out of his head. It was different from the girls he'd been with, different even from last night. There was slight stubble, for one, which was entirely new and strangely magnificent. There was also a little more _tooth_ than normal; a little more animalism, a little less niceness. It was altogether quite convincing. He may have made a small noise, which Malfoy took as approval and Harry felt long fingers wrap around the back of his knee and draw it upward, shifting the press of their bodies, as Malfoy settled himself between Harry's thighs and pushed their hips closer together, aligning them so that every tiny rock of his hips rubbed the whole length of his shaft. It was an intoxicatingly bizarre and wonderful feeling that couldn't help but provoke more _sounds_. Each throaty murmur resulted in more teeth on his neck, more pressure on his hips, more hot breath on his skin, and he near whimpered with pleasure.

Malfoy drew back, kissed him with warm, wet lips and pressed his hips forward again before sitting back and pulling his jumper off over his head, his undershirt going with it and leaving him bare and glorious in the late morning light. He shook the ball of fabric off his arm and took both of Harry's wrists in his hands. He pushed them to the bed as he replaced his body over him, poised, his hips in place and leaning on his pale, muscled forearms. Harry turned to see his own hand pinned to his quilt, the one Molly had made him, and marvelled at the fact he actually felt a little helpless. Malfoy had the strength to hold him here, with his body weight and his sinewy limbs, and his faded scar of snake tattoo still burning on his skin… Harry stared. He'd not seen it properly before, hadn't been able to turn his head on the top of the Astronomy Tower, so it had been a shadow, an implication of what it really was. Now… it was dark in a different way; an angry, twisted pink, like branded flesh. A scar. A reminder. A highly inconvenient mood killer. Above him, Malfoy sighed.

'I forget the effect that has. It's not so much of a thing in France.'

'I'm sorry, I shouldn't stare,' Harry knew what it was like for people to fixate on your scars. To see them and what they represented and not see you.

'It's fine,' Malfoy said, releasing Harry's wrists and sliding away 'til he could step backwards off the bed. 'We should get dressed and back to the pitch. Clyde will be wondering where we've got to.'

'Okay?' Harry felt like he'd ruined something.

'I'll meet you downstairs.' Malfoy picked his bundled jumper and shirt off the floor and left without looking back.

'Shit,' Harry said to himself. Why did everything with Malfoy just get more and more complicated? This, the physical stuff, was… well. Good. Useful, really, as well as enjoyable, and almost fascinating in the ways it differed from his previous experiences. He was getting good data. But, _sweet Jesus,_ Malfoy was a moody bastard.

 

***

 

The trip back was awkward, since they had to touch again, but due to the wonder that is Apparating, it was at least over very quickly. As they arrived, the England squad was finally emerging from the conference room and Coach Clyde was nowhere to be seen.

'Draco, are you going to come and play with us?' the blonde chaser from yesterday asked. 'We're doing starters versus reserves,' she looked quite thrilled to be talking to him. Definitely no idea he was gay. Harry let her suffer under her own ignorance since it was probably annoying for Malfoy to have her flirt so indelicately. Plus it made him feel a little smug having just recently had what she so obviously wanted and she was ignoring _him_ completely.

'I suppose.'

Harry followed them all outside, leaving his Firebolt by yesterday's table since now that the pitch was busy he obviously wasn't going to get to play anymore, but decided watching a proper game was probably more interesting than sitting inside thinking about what a mess this was becoming.

Clyde was outside with a crate of balls, and a whistle round his neck, handing out bands in red and white to each player - red for starters, including Malfoy, and white for reserves. As the teams took to the sky, the coach remained in conversation with Nathalie Buckley, the reserve Seeker who was absconding to Ireland to pursue the rewards the other half of her parental heritage offered. Buckley nodded and shrugged, donning a white band and zipping up toward the hovering reserves. Clyde looked straight at Harry.

'Any chance you could do us a favour Mr Potter?' he bellowed.

A flicker of excitement erupted in his chest. Hope that the favour was what he thought it might be and not just for him to go and get him tea. Or coffee. He looked like a coffee man. Probably instant.

'That depends on what it is.'

'Nothing you're not capable of,' Clyde grinned as he approached. 'Not if Mr Malfoy's reaction to the idea is anything to go by,' he winked. 'Got your broom?'

'Yes, sir?'

'Well,' he held out a white band. 'Would you mind playing Seeker for the reserves?'

'What about Nathalie?' Harry asked, since he'd just seen the reserve Seeker take off a second ago.

'She's abandoning me for the Irish, Mr Potter. She can Chase today; I want to see what you can do.'

'May I ask why?'

'Because you're _you_ , Mr Potter, and because when you asked for spare kit, Mr Malfoy looked decidedly worried.'

'He did?'

'Yes,' Clyde grinned again, but speculatively this time. 'There was something else in it too, of course, but I'm pretty sure you know what that was about. Melody has no idea, still, bless her.'

'Oh,' Harry paled.

'I'm not here to judge, Mr Potter. I'm just here to get you on a broom?'

'Yes, sir, of course,' Harry took the white band and nodded his thanks, stepped backward and turned toward the doors. His broom was just inside, leant against the wall behind his table, and he picked it up as slowly and calmly as he could. He was about to play with the English Quidditch squad. Actually _with_ them. Not just with a prospective player that he already knew on their pitch, but… _amongst_ them. Sharing air space. Ron was going to lose his shit. The thought put a smile on his face so big he was almost embarrassed as he walked outside again, lest they think it was all for the honour of playing with the big boys.

The rest of the squad were flying around above him, warming up and waiting for the balls to be released. He spotted a white-blonde head glinting in the sun and wondered just how this would play out. Had Malfoy really been worried about challenging him? And what was it exactly that Clyde had seen in his face other than that? Just lust?

Harry threw a leg over his broom and settled himself before pushing off and spiralling higher, making sure not to get in the way of anyone more important than him. Which, on this pitch, was pretty much everyone. He might've conquered Voldemort but there was only one Dark Lord, not 13, and the snakey bastard was crap at Quidditch anyway. Besides which, the horcruxes has mostly been bigger than a snitch and easier to see once located. Not that fucking locket, maybe, but it wasn't far off. Giant, gaudy piece of shit that it was.

 _Breathe_ , Harry reminded himself. _War's over. Different battle now - not embarrassing myself in front of the national squad. Or Malfoy, who I'm pretty sure was trying to get me to shag him about fifteen minutes ago._ He rose above the others and swung around in a wide arc, his eyes searching for blonde again, completely without his permission. He wondered if… everything. Stuff. Could he just, you know. _Do things_ like that now? Now that he was… into men. No. Now that he was _bisexual_ . Or rather, now he knew he was bisexual. Had proven it beyond a doubt. Well. Beyond most reasonable doubts. Could he just go _do it_ now? With anyone he wanted?

He was still a little trepidatious about the whole sex thing. Charlie was wonderfully forthcoming with information and tips and enthusiasm, but it all sounded a bit weird. Like things wouldn't fit together. And if they did fit, was Harry going to like it? It seemed a risky thing to explore at random with someone he didn't know or trust.

Everything he and Malfoy had done so far had been enjoyable, physically. And informative. His mouth was definitely a bit gay, and the sensitive skin of his neck. His dick, pressing against Malfoy's through their clothes was pretty solidly gay. Their bare chests, hot and smooth against one another - 50% gay at least. His hands liked the feeling of another guy under them, the lean muscle and hard, narrow hips. But without touching another naked penis… could he really be completely sure? What if everything down there just weirded him out? After all, he'd hate to fall for someone, and want to consummate their relationship only to find it icky and disturbing and just end up breaking his own confused heart into tiny un-gay pieces.

He spotted a flash of blonde finally at the other end of the pitch and swung around toward it. The thought occurred to him that Malfoy might not know Harry was even out here, and mid-game wasn't going to be the best time to find out.

As expected, he was greeted in mid air with a frown.

'Potter, why are you up here?'

Harry pointed to the white band as he drew close and stopped alongside.

'Clyde asked if I wanted to play,' he said. 'Nathalie is Chasing. Is that okay?'

'Who am I to squash your childhood dreams?'

'My childhood dreams were of regular meals and having a normal human bedroom.'

'Always so dark, Potter', Malfoy sighed. 'What can I do for you?'

'We didn't sign the wager.'

'No, we didn't.'

'I have a proposition.'

'Yes?'

'Well. I don't want to fall in love and get married and adopt babies. Not yet,' he considered. 'Some of it maybe not ever. I don't know if I'd make a good parent. I don't know if I'd want to risk that, after-.'

'What are you _proposing_ , Potter?' Malfoy interrupted.

'Well. I want to try things. With another guy. You. But slowly.'

'And? Lots of people want to try things with me,' Malfoy was obviously not going to make this easy. 'I'm young and dashing and a famous Quidditch player. And I've got that delicious bad boy thing going. What's your point?'

'Well, if I win, I want you to show me how to do stuff. Not too fast and without mocking me.'

'That sounds tedious. What if I win?'

Harry shifted and let his broom glide closer, stopping only when they were touching.

'Same thing but I guess I'll have to put up with you mocking me.'

Malfoy looked delightfully rattled. The idea that no matter the outcome he got sex seemed to sink in about then. Harry stuck his hand out.

'Are you sure about this?' Malfoy asked, even as his hand twitched forward a little. 'You want me to be your… what? Sex professor?'

'Better option than any of the other professors I know.'

'Merlin, Potter, stop talking,' Malfoy took his hand and shook it once. 'Now go away, I need to get the image of you rogering McGonagall out of my head.'

Harry couldn't help smiling again as his new rival, and tutor, zipped away, in spite of the horrideous mental image of the Head's wrinkled hundred-year-old lady-parts assaulting his brain. This was turning out to be an okay day. Compliments from girls, delicious breakfast, a bit of a snog, and now this. A casual game of Quidditch with the national side and a guarantee of some sort of new-fangled sex afterwards. Without tartan.

 

***

 

In the end they only lasted an hour. Staying a distance away from each other at first, then taking turns stalking around the pitch one all over the other. There were a few false starts; a glint of jewellery, a tiny bird, a windblown leaf. Malfoy had pulled out a really nice Wronski Feint at the leaf, Harry had been impressed by that, if not a little smug. They'd spotted the actual snitch twice. Once in the dead centre of the pitch, dithering on the spot for long enough to draw attention. They pelted from opposite ends toward each other, Harry veering up and Malfoy shooting down once they got close enough to see the little gold bastard hoof it off toward the lounge, both of them pulling big loops around after it, but it was gone.

The second time it was literally inside the reserves' goal hoop when Malfoy saw it, and speared across the field, well ahead of Harry and nearly flat on his broom. His control was amazing, even like that, with no leverage and barely enough time to avoid the bludger aimed straight for his face. He righted himself just in time to see the flicker of gold disappear again.

Harry wanted to congratulate him. Without the intervention of the reserve beaters, he was pretty sure everyone on Malfoy's team would've been. Perhaps he'd have to settle for congratulating him later, alone. Somehow. Harry blushed a deep pink, far above the ground, and tried to think of McGonagall again to dispel any ideas his dick was having about later. There was only room for one big, hard stick between his legs right now. He had to focus.

It was one of the times he got momentarily distracted by his thoughts that spelled the end. Glancing behind him to where Malfoy was gliding just outside of his comfortable field of vision, he caught a glint of light just past his shoulder. He turned back around to face forwards and considered his options. If he spun quickly, it would be obvious he'd seen something. If he executed a lazy circle, Malfoy might just follow him, but he'd still be closer to the snitch if it moved. If he bolted forward from here, he'd definitely follow but then they'd likely both lose the snitch and Harry would be in a worse position than he was now. What would happen if he just stopped?

He slowed to a stand still and hovered for a second before throwing another glance over his shoulder. Malfoy was giving him a look that said he knew something was up, but he was still edging forward, toward Harry. Good. His momentum would be taking him in the wrong direction.

Harry hadn't wasted his time staring out the window yesterday, watching the practice. He'd seen the way the inverting swoop worked. He thought he could probably manage it.

He gripped his broom, tight, set his left foot firmly on the foot rest and let his right slip off and wrap around the underside of the shaft. He pushed hard against the left footrest and yanked the handle backward, til it felt like he was tipping over backwards, let his head drop back, focused on a point, and shot forward. Except now that he'd tipped backward, forward was actually behind him and toward Malfoy. Malfoy, who had realised what he was doing and had a look of outrage on his face that filled Harry with an immense satisfaction as he flew past him and straight at the snitch.

He heard an enthusiastic curse and looked behind him to see a blonde blur making the same exact manoeuvre he just had. Slightly more elegantly and while still in motion, of course. He fixed his eyes on the snitch again, knowing he wouldn't hold his lead long in this position, not against anyone who was good enough at inverted swooping to have it on his player profile. He'd done a few corkscrews in his time, though, he could pull himself out of this at speed, so long as the snitch didn't choose that exact moment to veer off in another direction… Which of course it did. Fortunately it went toward the ground and the helpful hand of gravity was all too willing to pull Harry that way too. He simply lent into the dive and kept his eye on the little golden ball. He was considering the need for a Wronski not-a-feint as the ground started to get too big, when the snitch suddenly swerved sideways and he realised just how close Malfoy had gotten, the pale blue of his kit flapping in the periphery. Harry threw his weight forward, barrel rolling through the sharp turn to keep his momentum, Malfoy curling around his wake, only seconds behind him. They twisted through the air, over and under like a helix, a beautiful, dangerous dance, and Harry felt something in his gut that wasn't anything to do with Quidditch.

The snitch tacked again, in Harry's favour this time, and he straightened out his pursuit. Looking behind him, Malfoy was nowhere… _what the hell?_ He scanned the air above him, but there was only the other team members keeping half an eye on their movements while hiffing the quaffle about. He faced forward again, puzzled, just in time to swerve away from the  expertly aimed bludger coming straight at his face. There was a definite difference in the accuracy of professional beaters compared to those on the school teams. A potentially fatal difference, of course, but impressive nonetheless.

Adrenaline pounded in his head and his heart beat wildly. Harry scanned the air and finally caught sight of Malfoy in his periphery. Flying directly below him, inverted, his leg wrapped around his broomstick. Of course. Ahead, the snitch fluttered madly in an effort to evade them, but the distance was closing, and the stakes were… awesome. And really not that high. But the need to prove himself was strong so he flattened himself to his broom and urged the Firebolt forward.

The snitch dipped, inches from Malfoy's outstretched hand. Harry tipped forward slightly, closing the space between them as they flew, his knee feeling the flap of robes that weren't his own. The ground was coming back again, fast. He considered warning his opponent, considered pulling himself out of the descent, considered grabbing Malfoy's broom and pulling them both out of the descent. Instead he inched forward til he was lying flat over the handle, rendering himself useless if the snitch changed direction again but also knowing Malfoy was in a similar position with his leg wrapped around the handle. Wide sweeping motions worked well inverted, sharp turns not so much.

They drew closer again, the ground got nearer, and the snitch fluttered at the tips of their fingers. Seconds felt like days. The rest of the pitch fell away to nothing. Harry felt wings against his fingertips, and fingertips against his gloved palm. He tensed every muscle, drew back and leapt forward, pushing off the foot rests and closing his fist around gold and leather and flesh. He felt himself fall, but not far, instead he was pressed up against the solid warmth and uncomfortable hardness of Malfoy and his broom, Harry's own tumbling off to the side. The impact as they hit the ground was real, and horrible, but the skidding along the grass was the most worrying, with someone beneath him taking the brunt of it.

They slowed, and stilled, atop one another and touching from neck to knee, arms outstretched above their heads, hands still clamped around the fluttering snitch. Harry's face was warm where it was pressed against Malfoy's neck, the mingled smells of grass and leather and cologne all too similar to Amortentia. Now seemed like a bad time to fall in love, though. There was pain, and even though every other pop song declared that love  hurt, Harry was sure this isn't what they had in mind.

He took a moment to wonder about the bruises that would be long and purple and embedded in his thigh very soon, right where the FireFiend's handle was. He hoped Malfoy hadn't fared worse, no one wants to get clobbered in the crotch with a heavy shaft of wood, especially if it put you out of action for any length of time. They had a deal and Harry wanted to keep it.

'Are you okay?' he asked.

'I am not,' Malfoy groaned in his ear.

'How not-okay are you?' Harry didn't want to sound too much like he only had one real concern but he'd always been a terrible liar.

'My back hurts rather a lot. Though I suppose I should delight in the fact that I can still actually _feel_ the broom trying to dislocate my kneecap and you holding my hand.'

'I'm not really holding your hand,' Harry felt the need to point out. 'I'm holding the snitch.'

'As am I, Potter.'

'Yeah,' he said, expecting that since they were likely be very, very naked together, very soon he probably shouldn't be so worried about holding his hand. Even if everyone could see them. In this position. Holding hands. Not getting up. 'I expect this means neither of us wins?'

'Well observed.'

'What happens in a tie?'

' _We_ might tie, but they don't,' he tilted his head toward the mass of players alighting a few metres away from them and winced at the movement. 'Starters win this one.'

'Oh,' Harry says. 'The bet wasn't about the teams though, only us.'

'Hmm. So what do you reckon that means, Potter? Will I only get to mock you half the time?' Malfoy smiles against Harry's neck and he finds himself not caring so much about being teased if it's going to feel like this.

'How about you mock me in French? You can say what you like and I won't care.'

'C'est suffisant,' Malfoy purred. 'Now get me off, people are staring.' _Get me off?_

'What?'

'Oops,' a warm, remorseless huff of laugher tickled his neck. 'Slip of the tongue.' Hot wetness bloomed below his ear and a brand new erection bloomed in his trousers. It'd been a full hour since he'd had one of those. Great.

Harry braced his hands against the grass and carefully tried to find somewhere stable to put his knee. Instead he found the rock hard handle of Malfoy's broom with his patella, which made him both wince and over-balance, sprawling again and driving the handle into sensitive groin flesh already destined for heroic levels of bruising.

'Oww,' Malfoy breathed, wincing, his muscles tense everywhere Harry could feel him.

'Sorry,' he muttered, extracting his thigh from where it was pressing the broom between them. He rolled off instead, landed directly on his Firebolt, this time with his spine, and gasped with the immediate pain. 'I officially hate your broom, Malfoy. And mine. Anything that starts with the word 'fire'.'

'Mine wasn't exactly kind to my testicles just now, Potter, be thankful yours had the decency to throw itself clear.'

'That was a bit of a landing,' came a bold voice from above them a moment later. 'I expect you two might need a Healer about now?' Clyde was standing over them, smiling the smile of a man that had muscles for padding and little to no bony parts that invited pain quite so much as your average Seeker's build.

'Yes, please, Clyde,' Malfoy said, his voice polite again. Harry decided not to bother trying to achieve anything until medical attention was had, since he didn't think himself capable of polite when his back and his knee and his groin hurt.

They were visited steadily by the other players, some smirking at the spectacle of their crash-landing (mostly the guys) and some cooing their concern (mostly the reserve chaser with the blonde curls who'd taken a fancy to Malfoy). Once the team Healer made it out to the pitch, the rest of the squad moved inside and they found themselves mostly alone.

'Where does it hurt?' the calm, grey-haired wizard asked.

'My back,' Malfoy said. 'Though I'm loathe to roll over, because, also, my balls, thanks to this bastard,' he waved his hand at Harry.

'Perhaps let's lie you on your side, then?' the Healer said, not batting an eye at the mention of Malfoy's testicles, unlike Harry who was filled instantly with dread and arousal in equal amounts. _Think about McGongall naked!_

This was going to be a long afternoon.

 

***

 

After the Healer had done with them both they Apparated back to Grimmauld Place. Harry had made an executive decision that since they were both a bit tender and cranky and both a lot muddy, they weren’t quite in a state to join the rest of the squad in the bar.

'Remind me why we're here and not currently drinking, Potter?'

'Because no matter what your team Healer seemed to do, my thigh didn't stop hurting and tight trousers isn't helping any.' Harry told him. 'And I'm all sweaty,' he turned. 'And so are you. There's a bathroom on the ground floor if you want a shower, or we can go back to your hotel after?

'Here's fine, I brought a change of clothes,' Malfoy gave him a pointed look and wiggled his bag strap. 'I'm organised, unlike some people.'

'When was the last time you had a personal bodyguard who carried a change of clothes with him?' Harry gave him a scornful look as he started up the stairs to his bedroom. 'Seems like it might be a bit of a hazard… it's unnecessary weight, it could get stuck on something while I'm running to protect you, it could prevent me from entering small spaces…'

There was the sound of footsteps at the bottom of the stairs behind him.

'Well, we wouldn't want you to be prevented from entering small spaces, would we?' The smirk was audible.

'You're following me upstairs,' Harry pointed out, undecided between annoyed and slightly aroused again.

'Yes.'

'But I'm going to have a shower…'

'Yes, me too,' Malfoy shifted the strap of his hold-all in emphasis as he took another step up.

'I expected to do that alone,' Harry said, still undecided.

'Seems a little boring,' Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

'Showers aren't usually something I do for fun.' Images of what might make a shower entertaining for two flickered through Harry's mind. _Aroused it was, then._

'Then you're doing it wrong,' Malfoy took another step up, his gaze drawing level with Harry's swiftly growing erection. 'I'll show you a better way.'

'I-'

'You did agreed to this, Potter, you… petit poulet.'

'Yes, but-'

'But what?'

'I didn't think it would start _right now._ '

'Do you need me to take you to dinner first?' Malfoy cocked his head to the side, his grey eyes sparkling with amusement. 'Maybe I should carve our initials in a tree? Or procure you some sort of flower arrangement?'

'I wouldn't say no to dinner,' Harry admitted.

'Can we assume you also won't say no to a quick bite before then?' A  twitch in his lip with the words 'quick bite' made Harry wonder what he had in mind. And then _worry_ what he had in mind.

'I could eat,' Harry said, because literally it was true, and erotically he was pretty sure it didn't mean anything. Though if it did, there was a high chance he was going to be a bit wary about it. No one knew sexual frustration like a teenage boy who had to share a room, and no one knew the power of backed up semen like someone who was sexually frustrated. And no one accidentally knew the taste of semen like a sexually frustrated teenage boy who'd finally got some alone time, underestimated the power and distance he was capable of and opened his mouth to moan out his delight at exactly the wrong time. 'Food,' he specified. 'After a shower.' He turned and walked up the stairs, listening to see if he was followed.

'Do you mind if I have something before then?' came a voice, far closer than he would've expected. He managed to only freeze in panic for half a second before making a valiant attempt at continuing along the corridor to his room without picturing what that might mean. Footsteps followed him.

He paused at his door and looked back at the figure sauntering toward him along the dim passageway. 'I'm not going to stop you,' he said, still not sure if he was consenting for himself or his pantry. He'd either talked dirty for the first time in his life or he'd completely misinterpreted a request for a sandwich. Malfoy just smirked and slipped past him into the room, removing his Quidditch robes as he went and letting them fall to the floor in an expensive pile. _Probably not the sandwich, then._

A shirt fell to the ground, the clink of the tiny buttons hitting the polished hardwood captured Harry's attention and drew his eyes to… the half naked man in his bedroom. Pale, lithe, and bending double so long fingers could unlace leather boots; bare planes of bone and muscle shifted under the skin of his back as he manipulated the tough material. Harry had trouble forming thoughts. He stared until Malfoy straightened and set those pale hands to his trousers, unlacing the flies in seconds. This was all going very fast.

'Er,' Harry started, still unable to look away from the other man's pants. 'So.' _You're so almost naked. Shit._

'Come on, Potter, shower,' Malfoy said as he slid muddy quidditch trousers and what appeared to be silk boxers into another expensive pile. 'Isn't that what we came back here for?'

Harry glued his eyes to the wall.

'Yeah,' he said, his voice breaking on a single syllable. 'Sure.'

The sound of water blasted into being, accompanied by the jangle of curtain rings. _Malfoy is in my shower. Naked. That's… scary. Why is that scary?_  'It's not scary,' he whispered to himself. 'It's totally fine. Just like the Quidditch changing rooms, but, like, with blowjobs.' _Or sandwiches._ Harry started to wonder if he was misinterpreting this. Maybe Malfoy was just really lackadaisical about nudity. He'd been in France for ages. The Europeans were pretty casual about that sort of thing, weren't they?

Though, if Harry was interpreting this correctly, there was a blowjob waiting for him in his shower. He liked those. They were familiar. Not scary at all. As long as he didn't have to do the blowing part. And if the innuendo _was_ innuendo then Malfoy would be doing that bit. Good. After the whole war thing, he owed him one. Harry considered that concept as he hurried to undress himself with trembling hands. He imagined the _Prophet_ asking him how he and his former nemesis had managed to reconcile. He imagined them with quills poised, expecting a long and drawn out explanation of the power of forgiveness in times of changes, of not holding the sins of the father against the son, of acceptance and the power of positive thinking. And as he stepped into his bathroom, steamy and loud from the shower, he imagined himself telling the assembled reporters that it all come down to one mind-blowing orgasm at the lips of Draco Malfoy.

 

***

 

He was better than Ginny, with her dirty little mouth that had sucked it's way round half the boys in school by the time the war ended. He was somehow keener _and_ more casual about the whole thing. Long languid strokes, almost lazy in pace, but with a reverence most people reserved for fresh scones or imported chocolate. Harry's nerves were alight with feeling and his knees were weak with _wanting_ . A hot tongue swirled around his head, a gentle bobbing motion keeping the easy, unhurried rhythm going throughout. _Holy… hnggg_. Harry's knees twitched and threatened to finally give way as Malfoy pushed his foreskin all the way back with firm lips before softening them again to mouth at the sensitive rim, the tip of his wicked Slytherin tongue flicking gently against his frenulum. Harry really needed to sit down.

'Draco?'

There was a pop of released suction a sudden, bereft feeling of having lost one's last chance at true happiness. Harry looked down to see grey eyes staring back at him. They looked… slightly affronted.

'What did you call me?'

'Draco?'

'That wasn't part of the deal.'

'I-' Harry swallowed and tried to reconnect the parts of his brain that did thinking. 'It seemed kind of impersonal to call you by your surname with my dick in your mouth.'

'Impersonal is good, _Harry_ , wouldn't you agree?'

_No. My name sounds like warm toffee on your lips._

'I'm having trouble standing up,' he said instead, and watched a satisfied smirk spread across Malfoy's features. 'Can we move?'

'Fine,' he said, somehow managing to be elegant even when climbing up off his knees in a slightly dilapidated antique bathtub. 'About time you learned to reciprocate anyway.'

 _Crap_ . He shouldn't have said anything. Now he had to try and do the thing and it was going to be a thousand shades of embarrassing when he turned out to be rubbish at it. Ginny used to complain he had 'no sense of subtlety' and he'd not even managed to figure out what that meant, so had never gone down on anyone ever again. There was a handful of witches out there who probably thought he was a selfish lover. Which is still better than _incompetent_.

Harry took a damp, fortifying breath and turned off the shower, giving himself a once over with a towel and wondering if he should wrap it around his waist or just walk out there with his still-very-much-there erection proudly on display. He didn't suppose there was much sense in hiding it when Draco had already had it embedded in his face. _Malfoy_. Heaven forbid they act like normal humans and not public school boys.

'Are you coming?' came a pissy voice from his bedroom.

_Maybe, but you probably won't be, sorry._

'In a hurry, are we?' he said instead.

'Well,' Malfoy said from his position on the bed, sprawled out shamelessly and still very impressively naked. 'It's all been rather one-sided so far, but I'm relying on your overwhelming sense of decency to return the favour.'

'I suppose,' Harry said, twisting his self-doubt into the shape of practiced nonchalance and padding across the floor.

Malfoy patted the sheet beside him.

'Up you hop, lie this way,' he gestured with a sweeping hand to the space along his front. 'If we do it at the same time, you can mimic what I'm doing.'

That sounded logical, but if Harry could barely manage to stand up under his new tutor's ministrations, how was he expected to do anything complicated?

Malfoy manhandled him into position so that each of them was lying on their sides facing their… task. Harry had never been this close to a dick before that wasn't already attached to him and he wondered if they were all this nice-looking or if Malfoy was just pretty all over.

A warm hand wrapped around his length and gave a gentle tug, pulling him out of his whimsy and right up to the edge again. His eyelids fluttered shut.

'Why are you doing this?'

'Because it's sex, Potter, and I am a living male.'

'Why are you doing it with _me_?' Harry whined. 'I'm going to be useless.'

'You've answered your own question. Like I said before, I like being better than you. And here, in the comfort and safely of your own bed, I am better than you at everything.'

'Oh.'

'Any other questions? Or shall we proceed?'

Of course he had questions. So many. Things he'd been too scared to even ask Charlie, because in the back of his mind, he'd been afraid that if he said them out loud, if Charlie answered, he'd never be able to look his mother in the eye again.

'With man-sex, do you ever get… faecal matter on your dick?'

'I take it all back. You are definitely better at ruining the mood,' Malfoy let go of Harry and rolled elegantly to the edge of the mattress. 'And wasting perfectly good opportunities to sneak away and fuck.'

'We didn't sneak away, I-'

'And, oh look, we also didn't fuck.'

'You asked if I had questions!' Harry protested. 'And we only came back here because I needed clean clothes.'

'Well then,' Malfoy huffed. 'You'd better put them on so we can get back to the clubhouse and I can start drinking heroic amounts of alcohol and be better than you at something again.'

'You're blowing this way out of proportion.'

'And you're not blowing anything,' Malfoy growled. 'You horrible little tease.'

'I don't know how to- you know,' Harry threw his arms in the air. 'I wasn't even sure I wanted to until yesterday.'

'But you do now?' Malfoy lowered an eyebrow.

'I don't know.'

'But you're curious?' He raised the other one.

'Maybe,' Harry hedged. Good lord, this was awkward. And the longer they were gone, the more Coach Clyde would be thinking about what was taking so long. 'Can we not talk about this right now, you're being all pushy.'

'Am I?' Malfoy said, and adopted fake sympathetic tone. 'Terribly sorry, I'm a little frustrated. You see, you interrupted MY MORNING WANK.'

'Only for a minute!'

'Only for- what?!' Malfoy rolled his eyes so hard, Harry thought he might hurt himself. 'You think after you spelled my ensuite with Merlin-knows-what I was going to do that in there?'

'I didn't cast anything inappropriate!' Harry protested. 'I don't even know anything inappropriate.'

'Of course you don't. Saint Potter.'

'You're being a bit of a dick about this.'

'I thought you liked a bit of dick, Potter? Or have you changed your mind again?'

'Maybe about you,' Harry retorted.

Malfoy went suddenly very, very quiet.

'Fine,' he said, his face a mask in the time it took to blink. 'I'll meet you downstairs then.' And he summoned his wand, flicked it at his clothes and led the procession of empty garments out the door without another word.

 _Fuck_.

 

***

 

If Harry had thought it was awkward leaving Grimmauld this morning, then they'd have to find a new, more expressive word for this afternoon.

Malfoy wouldn't even look at him. When they landed back in the clubhouse amongst the happy hum of chatter and the smell of chicken wings and ale, he immediately shrugged off Harry's hand and stalked away to the bar. He stood there and downed three shots of cheap firewhiskey and then ordered a proper glass of single malt. Harry was on duty still, so retreated to his table in the corner and positioned himself with his back to the wall to keep watch for danger. Not that he was particularly worried, but it gave him something to focus on that wasn't sexual humiliation. Hopefully someone would take pity on him and offer him tea.

In the end there was no pity, but definitely plenty of interest, and questions about why he was sitting so far away. Apparently his being a bit starstruck by the national side didn't stop him being famous himself, and a few of them approached with genuine nervousness. The other two reserve chasers, the ones that weren't the ringleted blonde who was trying vainly to absorb Malfoy through her fingers, came over after a while and sat with him.

'Hi,' said one. She was short and curvy and vaguely familiar. Judging by her age, possibly in the upper years at Hogwarts when Harry had started as a pre-pubescent 11 year old. He didn't remember her specifically, but then, she was a Chaser, so he had probably not paid that much attention. Seekers, he knew. 'You're not going to have a drink?'

'I'm on duty,' he said, before suddenly wondering if he shouldn't have told her. But that was ridiculous, Clyde would've had to have explained Malfoy's presence, the team weren't exactly going to not notice he was there. Though maybe the reasons for his own presence were still hush-hush…

He was saved from his internalising this time by the other reserve, a young man he probably wouldn't mind being saved by again sometime. Preferably alone and in the rain on a mid-summer's eve. He was very, very pretty. But he also had a penis and they were still a bit scary. Maybe he could just rescue him with nice, emotionally manageable kisses.

'Oh yes, Draco's secret Auror escort,' the guy gave him a startlingly captivating smile. 'He won't tell us why he needs one, of course, such a drama llama.' One smooth black eyebrow lifted pointedly.

'I can't tell you either,' Harry apologised, leaving out the fact that he didn't know anything to tell them. Malfoy had said nothing about any of it, and now, with things as they were, he wasn't expecting to be taken into his confidence anytime soon. 'But you're welcome to sit here and guess?' Harry gave them his trustworthy 'average bloke' smile he'd learned at Auror training. Maybe he could develop a theory from theirs.

'I hear he impregnated a princess,' the girl said as she climbed onto the stool opposite. 'And her father is out for his balls.'

'I heard a jilted ex-lover happened to secretly be a reporter and was spreading word that he was part Veela and very bitey in bed.' The shifty grin that followed made Harry wonder if he wasn't the only bi' man in the vicinity. He made a mental note to find out. After he found out how to do… things. With men. Other than kissing them in the rain on a mid-summer's evening.

'Hmm,' was all Harry said in response, and glanced over at the back of a white-blonde head, still being fussed over by the curly reserve. ' _She_ seems quite determined. Should I be protecting him from her as well?'

'I expect she'll be jilted before they get to the lover stage, don't you?' the guy said, raising a knowing eyebrow at Harry. 'I'm Jeremy, by the way.' He held his hand out.

Harry shook, trying not the notice the firmness of his grip and the rough calluses and the tiny flitter in his chest. How had he ever doubted his sexuality?

'I'm Lucy,' said the girl, waving from the other side of the table but not offering her hand. 'That girl is beyond optimistic, I don't doubt he'll need your assistance sooner or later.'

'Make it later, he's been a twat today.' _So unprofessional._

'Trouble in paradise?'

Harry shot a harsh look at Jeremy, panic flaring in his stomach. Did people think they were… you know. 'This is hardly paradise,' he said, attempting to sound downtrodden and not jilted. 'I'm stuck to his side for most of the day, and I'm not even allowed to drink to get myself through it.'

'I can sneak you a 'special cup of tea' if you like?' Lucy offered.

'It'd be just my luck that something'd go wrong and I'd get fired,' Harry sighed. 'An actual cup of tea wouldn't go astray though.' He gave her his best puppy eyes. Ron had taught him those.

Lucy gave him an indulgent grin, and hailed the bartender, the same squib girl Harry had spoken to yesterday.

They all ordered and she gave Harry a wink when she dropped off his tea ten minutes later. Odd. He looked down and found there was a piece of parchment poking from under the cup. Also odd. His first thought was that it was from her, and he'd somehow been too friendly and given her the wrong idea. He discreetly palmed the tiny note and flicked it open on his lap, out of sight. He took a sip of his tea. The others were talking about breweries in Cornwall with a strange amount of enthusiasm, so Harry chanced a glance downward.

 _'Get her off me'_ was all it said. Harry looked up. Malfoy had moved from his seat at the table where he'd been getting pestered and had retreated to the far side of the room near the corridor to the loo. Curly chaser was delicately clinging to his arm. How could she still be trying to get in his pants? He'd blatantly declared his sexuality to Harry within a minute, how had that not deterred her the same way it had intrigued Harry?

Malfoy chose that moment to look up. He looked on the verge of AK-ing the tiny blonde arm-limpet. He raised a hopeful eyebrow, managing to look both murderous and remorseful. Harry sighed. What she was doing could be classed as harassment. But what was he actually going to do? Ask her politely to leave? Lie and say they needed to discuss something in private? Ask Malfoy how his blatant gayness and complete disinterest in women was coming along?

'You gonna go save him from her gormless clutches or let him suffer?' Jeremy gave him a mischievous smile. 'You almost had him today.'

'What?'

'In the match, if he'd been just a bit slower, you'd have come out on top of the national side…' Jeremy shook his head in mock despair.

'Would've been very impressive for an amateur player to get one over on him,' Lucy added. 'You might've been invited back to play with us again.'

'I feel like you're talking me out of helping him.'

'I like watching her bark up a gay tree,' Lucy shrugged.

'It's kind of my job to protect him,' Harry sighed, looking over at Malfoy again. 'And it's beginning to look a lot like sexual harassment.'

'Go on, then,' Lucy smirked. 'Go be his knight in shining armour.'

'It's not really that kind of arrangement,' Harry tried to keep his blush from giving him away.

'Have you told him that?' Jeremy asked, all fake innocence.

Harry scowled at him. Other famous people were far more inclined to get comfortable with him and he always forgot to expect the banter that was probably normal for most people.

'I'll be sure to mention it to him,' he said and sauntered over to the disastrously mismatched pair of blondes. One small and gnat-like, the other tall and lean and disarmingly good on his knees.

Malfoy saw him coming and the corner of his mouth lifted, a surprisingly genuine reaction if Harry's Auror training was anything to go by. His impression was only confirmed by the way the half smile disappeared into a much larger, much less authentic grin a second later. What was he playing at?

'Potter,' he said, once in hailing distance, and held out his hand. Harry reacted instinctively and proffered his own, only to have it clasped firmly and tugged. With the momentum of walking in that direction anyway and the absolute surprise of Malfoy pulling on him, he was helpless to resist the ploy. A strong hand reached around his neck and suddenly Malfoy was right there, in his face, his eyes uncertain but his body clearly committed to closing the gap between them. Harry gasped, his lips parted in shock and he instinctively closed his eyes as pale, soft lips covered his. It was a clash of worlds. Wild, boisterous sounds of people surrounded them on three sides, people who knew who they were, people who would notice this, and have an opinion. But in this little bubble of delicate pressure and firm, clutching hands, was just the two of them, their dirty little secret… which was now laid bare for the entire English Quidditch Squad. Malfoy pulled back, the tip of his tongue painting a swift stripe across Harry's bottom lip in parting.

'This is Melody,' he said once he reached a respectable distance. 'Chaser, scrapbooker, and big fan of sunflowers.'

'Hi,' Harry said. He had the strangest sensation he'd just be used. And outed. Like, really, really, outed.

'Hi,' Melody said. She looked confused. Wow. It hadn't even worked. Malfoy had yanked him out of the closet in front of a large group of people Harry respected and admired and for what? So that this girl could look delicately perplexed?

'Is it time to go?' Malfoy asked. 'I'll get my things.'

Melody watched him walk away for a moment.

'I didn't know you were gay, Mr Potter,' she said, an edge coming into her voice on the word 'gay'. Judgy little bint. 

'I'm not,' he said. 'Are you?'

She looked blank and he sent an internal thank you to Charlie for loading him up with excellent responses to invasive questions about where one chose to put their gentleman parts in the privacy of their own homes. God bless the Weasleys.

'Oh,' she said. 'No.'

'Right then,' Harry patted her on the shoulder. 'Nice to meet you, Meghan. Have a good season.' And he walked away. He wasn't sure where he was walking to, but he saw the stares, and the more discreet glances, and he saw Malfoy grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair and headed that way, collecting him on the way past and heading out past his own table by the doors with a nod to his new friends and into the cool evening air.

'What the fuck?' he demanded once they were clear, shoving Malfoy further from the exit, very aware the doors were made of very see-through glass.

'I needed your help.'

'I didn't need outing to THE ENTIRE NATIONAL SQUAD!'

'It was already in the media, Potter, people already knew.'

'They didn't _know_ , you wanker. They had a grainy photo and a theory. NOW they know.'

'To be fair, they're all contracted to not say anything about me being here. They literally can't tell anyone.'

'This isn't about _you_ ,' Harry threw his hands in the air in pure frustration. 'Are they magically bound to not say anything about _me_? Because I don't remember that contract being signed, and even you didn't know I was the one who'd be coming to babysit you so it can't have happened before I got here.'

'Oh.'

'Fuck this shit,' Harry pushed his fringe off his brow, relished the crisp air on his rage-heated skin. It was definitely rage, not embarrassment. And it fucking definitely wasn't residual heat from being kissed, so boldly, in front of everyone. 'I'm taking you back to the hotel.'

Harry grabbed Malfoy by the front of his jacket and Disapparated across town into a still, warm, pastel-coloured hotel room, landing with a lurch and a curse. He looked around. At… carnage. There was real blood on the floor by the window; not just red wine this time. Every drawer and cabinet had been opened and tossed. The bed was in a disarray, the comfy armchair on it's side at his feet. A small sound came from the bathroom.

Harry's training kicked in immediately, and they were gone within seven seconds of arriving, a loud crack the only proof they had been there at all.

They landed heavily and off-balance on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place, twin expressions of horror etched on their faces, Harry's hand still twisted in the fabric of Malfoy's jacket, close enough to feel his heart pounding against his knuckles.

'That is _not_ how we left it.'

  
  



	4. F*ck the French

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pair go into hiding at Grimmauld place. There is arguing, a few visitors, a few explosions, and a first time for everything.  
> ***  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Please note the change in rating. Things, uh, got a little out of hand? I blame my betas.***

'That is  _ not _ how we left it.' 

'No shit. What the fuck is going on, Potter?' 

'With  _ your _ hotel room?' Harry pressed his free hand against the front door and waited for the lock to click. 'How the fuck should I know?' He pushed it open and shoved Malfoy inside, eyes scanning the street reflexively, knowing no one could even see the house but unable to stop himself in his heightened state of alertness. Anxiety. Same thing.

'I don't know, maybe because you're the one who cast seven hundred security spells on it yesterday.' Grey eyes scowled at him, but there was fear there as well, and rightly so. 

'The spells don't answer questions, Malfoy, they just fuck up the people who are trying to get in and murder you. Is that not enough?' Harry tried not to take the implication of blame personally, but he was beginning to feel like he was in over his head and nothing had even happened to them. What if he  _ was _ to blame? What if he'd let something happen, and was too inexperienced to even know what he'd done wrong. 

'People got  _ in _ , Potter, so your shitty spells didn't work.' Malfoy had a point. But not one Harry was willing to concede.

'I think the blood all over the floor would say otherwise.' 

Tea was necessary. Tea fixed everything. Or at least gave you something to do with your hands that wasn't strangling the person you were meant to be protecting. Even if that person was processing his emotions in a way that made him act like a twat. 

'Oh, I'm  _ sorry _ ,' Malfoy followed him down the hall to the kitchen. 'They got in and ransacked my room but everything's fine, 'cause they were bleeding a little bit so they must've learnt their lesson?'

'The spells work, Malfoy. They clearly didn't come in the windows or there'd be a lot more blood, and you know, eviscerated corpses. They didn't Apparate because I could still feel the anti-Apparition wards when  _ we _ Apparated in. It just means they got in some other way.' 

'What other way?'

'Could be any number of options. I mean, was the door locked?'

'I don't know, Potter, did you lock it after the room service showed up?'

'Of course I did,' Harry spun around in the narrow corridor. 'And what do you mean, you don't know? You're the one being stalked! Didn't you check it before you went to bed? You pampered, aristocratic lump. Can't you even lock a door without a house elf to do it for you?'

'I figured my Auror guardian was on top of that simple procedure. Who am I to doubt the venerable Harry Potter?''

'You've been doubting me your whole life, you bastard, why stop now?'

'Not my whole life,' Malfoy said. 'Just since the moment you chose Weasley over me.'

'When we were eleven and you were a pompous dick?'

'I was refined.'

'You were eleven,' Harry turned back toward the kitchen. 'Trust me, you were a dick.'

'This is a blatant attack on my person,' Malfoy shouted after him. 'And an abuse of your authority. You have no right to bully me like this.'

Harry couldn't even reply. The rage, justified even minutes ago when Malfoy had outed him in front of the whole English National Quidditch Squad, was now palpable. His heart was pounding against his ribs, as if it, too, and not just his clenched fists, wanted to punch a certain blonde someone very hard in the face.

'You twat,' he hissed. 'You bullied me for years.'

'You antagonised me for years.'

'You verbally assaulted me and my two best friends constantly, you made Hermione cry, more than once. You insulted the only family I've ever had that gave a shit about me. You-'

'She punched me in the face!'

'You deserved it.'

'You did far worse, you know. I almost bled to death in a girls' bathroom because of your wanton spellcasting.'

'You stomped on my face, you tried to  _ Crucio _ me, and you were conspiring to let Death Eaters into the place where I lived. I'm having trouble being sorry.'

'Kind of like now?' Malfoy sneered. 'Are you disappointed I didn't die horribly this time either?'

'No.'

'It's hard to justify being a murderous shit outside the confines of war, isn't it?'

'No. I-' Harry took a deep breath and remembered his anger management training. You had to de-escalate. Surprise them with understanding and kindness so they don't need to be defensive. 'I kind of don't mind you now.'

'You don't mind me?'

'Yeah.'

'This morning, in your dilapidated antique of a shower with your dick in my mouth, you  _ didn't mind _ me?' Malfoy kept yelling as Harry put the kettle on. Training didn't cover how to deal with that level of dickery. 'Is that what all the happy whimpering was about - not  _ minding _ ?'

'Were you doing it because you  _ like _ me?' Harry turned to lean against the counter, arms folded. 'Because I distinctly remember you saying you were doing it because it was  _ 'just sex, Potter' _ and very little to do with your high opinion of me.'

'My opinion of you has rarely been lower.'

'Oh no, I'm so sad,' Harry deadpanned.

'Why are you  _ doing _ this?' Malfoy growled. 'This could've been fun, Potter.  _ You _ could've been fun.'

'I'm fun.'

'You're not. You're shouty and mean and afraid of being who you are.'

'I… am, yeah,' Harry rubbed his hands over his face. It had been a hell of a day and he was tired as fuck. 'The last bit. But I'm not mean.'

'Hmm. I see you're not denying the shoutyness either.'

'Well. Everyone remembers fifth year. I don't think I can deny that to anyone who was there,' he gave up and got mugs out instead of arguing. 'Why the fuck are we fighting about all this? None of it matters.'

'Non-reciprocal blowjobs matter.'

'Can we sort out who's trying to murder you before we sort out my sex issues please? My job is only reliant on one of those things, you know, the one that keeps you alive.'

'Fine. But orgasms come right after food, water, and not being murdered on the list of things I care about.'

'Fine.' Harry dropped teabags into their cups. 'I'm calling my boss. We have to report the incident. Go,' he flapped his hand toward the cupboards. 'Find some biscuits or something.'

'Who can't manage without a house elf now?'

Harry glared, and moved to the other end of the room to crouch in front of the fire. Chucking a pinch of powder into the pile of embers and watching the Floo blaze to life, he hoped he'd be able to get through straight away. Robards wasn't the type to stay by his desk. Maybe he should call someone else more likely to answer and save some time? Except no one else was meant to know what he was doing, so telling them what'd happened would be against orders. Damn. A patronus was out of the question, they would just blab whatever you had to say in front of everyone that happened to be there, and an owl would be too slow. Maybe he and Malfoy should just go through and hunt him down. That could be plan B. Best avoid having to explain why Draco Malfoy was running around the office with him if he could manage it.

'Gawain Robards' office,' he said clearly into the green flames and waited for the resulting whoosh of a thousand fireplaces to slow. His boss's office flicked into view, and Harry was faced with the very chair he had sat in yesterday to receive this assignment. Fuck that chair. Very unlucky. Unless you counted the half a blowie he'd got this morning. But then, what's lucky about half a sexual favour? 'Robards?' he called. 'Robards!' he tried to make himself audible through the office door to no avail.  _ Bollocks _ . He retracted his head.

'Auror bullpen,' he tossed another pinch of Floo powder into the fire. It turned blue, busy. 'Auror break room,' he was getting a bit desperate. No one there. It was four o'clock, where the fuck was everyone? 'Hermione Granger's office,' he said, defeated and ready to be told what he should do next.

'Harry?' Hermione was watering a collection of cacti with a pipette and a pair of silicone-tipped tongs. 'What's the matter?' She put her tools down and came to kneel in front of him. 'Are you okay?'

'Yeah, I'm fine, but I can't get through to anyone in the Auror office, and I need you to send an interdepartmental memo to Robards for me, is that okay?'

'Of course, that's quicker than an owl and more discreet than a Patronus, good thinking. Can you dictate?' she stood and collected a piece of parchment from a tidy tray and hovered her writing hand over the desk. 'To me or to a quill?'

Harry marvelled at how much faster her brain worked than his own.

'To a quill, sorry.'

'Not a problem,' she set the parchment on top of a clipboard on the hearth and set the QuickQuotes quill to hover over it. 'One moment.' She whirled her wand around her own head and Harry saw the gentle fuzz of a muffling charm form around her. She nodded, ready.

'Robards,' Harry started, and checked the quill was following. 'Malfoy's hotel room was tossed, possible suspect at the scene, send someone. We're alone at my house now, will wait here til I hear from you.' He read what the quill had written. 'Harry,' he finished. 'Potter,' he added, just in case. The quill put a full stop between his names and he decided to quit while he was ahead. Well, slightly behind ahead, but it'd do.

He looked up at Hermione and nodded. She answered by flicking her wand at the parchment so that it folded itself into a little dart and sending the thing off out the memo flap in the door.

'Do you need anything else?' she asked him, removing her muffling charm. 'Can you tell me if you're okay?'

'I'm fine, not hurt, not in danger, just… annoyed. Nothing new, really,' he smiled wryly. 'Thanks for the help.'

'Not a problem,' she relaxed visibly, her shoulders lowering to an almost normal height. 'See you later?'

'Of course,' he gave her as normal a grin as he could while stressed out, drew back, and with a faint 'pop' he was back in his own kitchen.

'Are they sending a unit over?' Malfoy asked, and passed him a cup of tea.

'A unit of what?' 

'Aurors, I assumed. Though unicorns might be just about as useful as you are.'

'What?'

'Unicorns. White, shiny, a bit fancy, big horn out the front… really like virgins?'

'I think you just described yourself.'

'I did not,' Malfoy protested.

'You're paler than me, your hair is all shiny, you're fancier than an actual unicorn and for some reason you seem to want my… I dunno, man-virginity?'

'I see my big horn is being left out of the proceedings again.'

'Is it really that big?'

It was Malfoy's turn for rage-induced mutism. He huffed and scowled  and dropped himself into a chair. 

'You  _ are _ mean, I told you.'

'Sorry I  _ Crucio _ 'ed your penis confidence. Do you want something to eat?'

'I checked your cupboards, you don't have anything but stale bread and Marmite.'

'Toast, then?'

'Fine.'

 

***

 

They ate in companionable silence for the most part, Malfoy still scowling a bit every time he remembered the verbal assault on his manhood, and Harry hiding his resulting smirk behind his toast. After destroying half a loaf of bread, Harry made more tea and they bickered half-heartedly about milk ratios.

They had waited a full thirty minutes to hear back properly after Robards' crow-formed Patronus had practically exploded out the side of the brick chimney between rounds of toast and barked at them he was 'on it'. The man himself had shown up with Lisa in tow, the Floo chiming to announce their arrival and interrupting the milk debate. Robards did most of the talking, giving them details of the crime scene and a small bag of what remained of Malfoy's possessions. There was no clothing, Harry noted, which had him torn between thoughts both perverse and sympathetic. They'd showered and changed earlier of course, but that did mean Malfoy was wearing the only set of clothes he had other than sweaty, grass stained Quidditch gear. Harry wondered if he slept naked. Then he wondered if there was any sense in him finding another hotel at this stage - surely not when Grimmauld Place was so well hidden already? It invited certain thoughts.

'Shall I keep him here til tomorrow, sir?'

'What the fuck else are we going to do with him, Potter?' Robards sighed, searching the too-high, fancy-patterned ceiling for some new sort of divine patience. 'You know, It almost seems  _ logical _ to put the famous Quidditch player everyone's looking for right next to the famous Auror no one can ever find. An idea so good I could've come up with it myself. Oh wait. I did.'

'Sorry, sir,' 

'Malfoy,' Robards turned his attention to their charge. 'Any clue who this might be, rifling through your things and not trying to outright kill you?'

'I have an excellent idea of why, but not who. Not specifically.'

'Unspecifically, then, who do you think it is?'

'Someone French,' Malfoy shrugged. 'Probably in the media.  _ Supérieur Sorcière _ is especially invasive.'

'Hm. That fits with my understanding of the matter as well. Bloody gossip rags are out of hand. I expect you can sympathise with that, Potter.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good. I'll leave you to it then. I'll let you know if we find anything else.' He turned in a storm of red robes and beckoned with the giant, scarred hands of a former Beater. 'Come on, Turps, home time.'

In a flurry of goodbyes and green flames they were gone.

'Was that Lisa Turpin?' Malfoy asked,

'Yeah.'

'Huh.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Nothing,' Malfoy shrugged. 'Her and Pansy used to hate each other. I can see why.'

'Because Pansy's a vacuous little bitch?'

'No, because Lisa has better tits,' Malfoy drained the last of his tea. 'And, yes, because Pansy's a bitch.'

'What would you know about tits?'

'I prefer men, Potter, it doesn't mean I'm blind. And I've had girls before. I just didn't like it that much.'

'You have?' Harry was surprised. Not that Malfoy had pulled multiple women, he was annoyingly good looking, but that he'd ever been interested in girls. He seemed so certain about his preferences now.

'I'm Sacred 28, Potter, I had to try. Heirs and all that.'

'So... what?' Harry felt mildly horrified. 'You'd have slept with a girl just to produce an heir, even if you didn't like her? Wouldn't you have had to marry her if she got pregnant?'

'Yes,’ Malfoy shrugged. ‘But we might have had an understanding. Statistically there must be at least one lesbian within the 28.’

‘You would’ve spent the rest of your life with someone you didn’t like?”

‘One does what one must, Potter.’

Harry was no stranger to that concept, but… not with love. For the first time, the idea that he might one day want to marry a man trickled into his head. How would they have babies? Was there a spell for that? Would they need a surrogate, or to adopt? Would the line of Potters stop with him if he didn’t pick a girl to marry? Was he even allowed to marry a man? What if that man wanted to father the children… could they have one each? The children would have two dads and no mum. Harry had no mum, and it was shit. Could he wish that upon a child? Should he just give up on men now, before he got attached to the idea? What if he never wanted to go back to women? Could he do what Malfoy was proposing?

'Did it bother you? The thought of marrying someone you weren’t… into?'

'Of course it did. Women are… unpalatable,' Malfoy made a face. ‘And whiny. And demanding. And all  _ delicate _ in bed.’ 

Harry decided to not point out that Malfoy was, again, describing himself.

'And yet you were checking out my colleague's chest?' Harry got up from the table and put the kettle on again. This was an existential crisis for another time. ‘You’re deplorable.’ 

'Like you can talk, Potter, you've successfully trapped me in your house and got it sanctioned by the MLE's Head Auror. Well done, you giant perve.'

'Would you like to go find another hotel for someone to toss?' Harry pulled out fresh tea bags and beckoned for Malfoy to bring their cups over. There was no way he'd let him leave, not after Robards had basically given orders to keep him here, but the idea was nice for a moment. He looked out the window at the fading light, trying to remember what it was like to not be babysitting, flinching as Malfoy came up behind him and held his body against Harry's back, pushing him ever so slightly into the hard bench. An arm snaked around his waist and slid the empty cups toward the kettle. That all seemed unnecessarily  _ close _ . He felt his pulse react immediately and cursed himself for being so disgustingly responsive when he should be acting responsible.

Another arm insinuated itself around his waist from the other side, long fingers sliding across his stomach. He could feel Malfoy's hot breath on his neck, the extra height he had sending it straight down the back of his collar and dancing across his skin. Something soft and warm pressed against the nape of his neck, something that felt suspiciously like Malfoy's mouth.

'I have other things that need tossing right now,' he murmured, lips not leaving Harry's skin. 'If you're not busy?'

'Malfoy,' Harry breathed, hating how easily he was being manipulated. 'How can you be coming onto me now? You're being hunted by evil French reporters who are willing to bleed for a chance to find something on you.' This was a valid point, but not the one Harry was focusing on internally. 'Besides, you've done nothing but yell at me since we got here.'

'I'm not coming on you yet, Potter. But I'm going to take that as an invitation to do so.' 

Contrary, purposely-mishearing, word-twisting bastard. And also, how very presumptuous. And also, so not appropriate at the moment. Harry used his Auror voice.

'I feel like you're not taking this situation very seriously.'

'Or,' Malfoy licked a trail from neck to shoulder, pulling at Harry's collar. 'Am I so  _ traumatised _ by the whole thing I'm just begging for a distraction?' He didn't sound remotely traumatised, but he hadn't been reacting in a rational manner before and it would be unethical for Harry to let this go any further. Even if he did want the other half of this morning's blowjob. 'Please?'

'You're begging?' Harry looked up at the window, dark enough now outside that he could see the two of them reflected in the glass. They were a study in opposites. Dark and light, good and evil, serious and mischievous, previously-poor and previously-pampered. And what were they now? Not much of anything. Harry huffed a laugh. They were just one ridiculously famous war-hero-turned-Auror that almost no one really knew, and a war criminal, exonerated at his own hand, now an International Quidditch player and famous in his own right. They were definitely something to people who didn't know them. They had that in common at least. Even if that was all. 'Begging isn't fair.'

'I'm the one being hunted for sport and you're complaining your life isn't fair?'

'Yeah, okay, point, but… ' Harry sighed. This might be getting out of hand. 'This has been an emotional afternoon, for both of us, and I don't think-'

'I'm sure you do,' Malfoy slid his hands lower, fondling the waistband of Harry's jeans. 'What are you thinking now?'

_ That this might be a nice position for us to fuck in, actually, not that I know how to go about that. And that I like you hugging me, against my better judgement. _

'I think we should probably avoid being physical when we're both a bit on edge,' he said instead.

'Come on, Potter, it'll take the edge  _ off _ . Help you relax,' Malfoy nipped at his shoulder.

'I am relaxed.'

'You feel a bit tense,' he said pointedly, running his hands up Harry's back now, fingers under his shirt.

'I don't think we should.'

'I do.' 

'You're being all pushy again,' Harry stepped sideways and turned to face him, arms folded.

'Am I?' Malfoy smirked, not looking remotely put out.

'Yes, you are.'

'Does it really bother you, Auror Potter?' he raised an eyebrow. 'Enough for you to something about it?'

_ A punch in the face is looking like a good choice. _

'I have no idea what you're getting at.'

'One of us,' Malfoy said softly and stepped forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, 'has to physically restrain people for a living…' 

'Oh.'

'Yes,  _ oh _ .'

 

***

 

'I get the distinct feeling you've done this before,' Malfoy examined his bound wrists from the comfort of his armchair. Harry liked the idea of getting caught in flagrante, but his kitchen fireplace was potentially going to be a bit too active tonight and there was a big difference between the idea of getting caught and the actuality of it. Moving to the living room meant they were close enough to hear the Floo and far enough away that they had time to pull their pants up. 'I'm wondering if it's an area of interest for you?'

'Not really.'

'This is a very specific set of knots, Potter.'

'Is it uncomfortable?'

'No. That's what makes me suspicious.' 

'It's also what makes you-'

Harry never got to finish his sentence, because once again, there was a chime and a whoosh of flame and a very familiar voice calling his name from the kitchen. He'd completely forgotten about last night's promise.

'Harry? I brought chicken and leek pie,' Hermione said, her footsteps drawing closer to the living room and accompanied by the most delicious smell. 'Is that okay? Ron says he can't remember if it's leeks you hate or spring onions.' She stopped short in the doorway and gaped at Malfoy. 'What's he doing here?'

'Hello Gra-'

Harry flicked his wand and a black silk gag materialised. Malfoy glared. He also relaxed his legs a little, his knees spreading slightly wider. Harry tried not to read into it.

'He's part of an ongoing investigation,' Harry said. 'Can't tell you anything else, sorry.'

'Harry,' Hermione hissed, pulling him into the hallway. 'You can't keep a suspect tied up in your house. It's completely against protocol, not to mention dangerous. What are you doing?'

'Mphnuha hurhur,' Malfoy said.

'He's not a suspect,' Harry translated.

'Then why is he tied up?'

'Because he's annoying,' he ignored the snort of outrage from behind him.

'Oh,' Hermione looked thoughtfully at Malfoy for a moment. 'You know, that looks a lot like Shibari.' Her brow furrowed and she sent Harry a sidelong glance that he very purposefully ignored. 'I might go,' she said.

'Yeah,' Harry agreed, still not meeting her eye. 'Sure, thanks for bringing the pie. It smells amazing.'

'No problem. Call if you… need anything?' she smirked.

'I'm  _ fine _ ,' he pushed her back toward the kitchen, bidding her good night and sending his regards to Ron, half expecting her to ask more questions once they were out of earshot. Suspiciously, she didn't. She just left, still smirking.

He was collecting bowls and cutlery for the pie when the fire sprang to life again, and he turned, expecting to see her coming back through to bombard him but instead it was Charlie's face in the grate.

'Hiya Harry,' he grinned.

'Charlie,' he tried to sound enthused while keeping his voice low. Honestly he wasn't really ready to update him on what had happened, and what had almost happened, and what was currently happening now, with Malfoy tied up in the other room and Hermione knowing what Shibari was and  _ smirking _ .

'Oh…' Charlie's grin turned feral. 'Do you have company?' He was looking at the pair of bowls in Harry's hand. 

'Uh,' there wasn't really any way of denying it. 'Yeah. Malfoy's here.'

'And?'

'We're planning on eating out of bowls.'

' _ And _ ?'

'And I have things to tell you,' he sighed. 'But it'll take longer than it should take to fetch bowls?'

'Say no more,' Charlie said quietly, looking far too pleased. 'But you'd better call me tomorrow or I will come through there and I will… I will do something that makes you tell me, and I will not be gentle.'

'Yes, Charlie,' Harry quirked a smile. 'I promise.'

'Have fun,' he winked before pointing at finger at him. 'Safe, consensual fun.'

' _ Thank you, _ Charlie.' Good lord, he hoped Malfoy couldn't hear them.

There was a slight 'pop' and his fireplace was empty again. Harry contemplated locking it, but Robards' might come back later and they could do with some more information. He moved back into the living room, padding down the hall in his socks, so quietly Malfoy must not have heard him coming. He was sitting with his head tipped back against the chair, eyes closed and face relaxed as if asleep. It was nice, seeing him at peace. And tied up, as he was, in erotic macrame. Harry went through the last 48 hours in his head. This time two days ago he was alone in his giant house with a half-dead owl for company and no romantic prospects on the horizon. He was tired and confused and thought he was straight without really  _ feeling _ straight. Now… he pitied his past self. He knew new things. He had tried stuff and it'd been scary but turned out okay. He had… this. A guy he was allowed to try things with, who was doing a really good job of not being too much of a dick about it, actually. And although Malfoy had outed him without permission, the events that directly followed had put that in perspective. They were both alive, Harry wasn't the one being hounded by the press, and they had free food. And also, he realised in the wake of Hermione's smirking, which always meant she knew something, he wasn't remotely ashamed of who he was. He was still worried the people he liked would be, he was worried he'd lose friends over it, but he also realised now that if he did, he'd rather lose them than keep friends who didn't accept any deviations in people's… interests. Hermione didn't seem remotely perturbed. Charlie was gagging to know more. Malfoy seemed very accepting right now, and trusting. Being tied up didn't seem to bother him, and it looked… really really good on him. The black silk cord contrasted nicely with his pale wrists.

Harry stepped into the room and put the bowls down as gently as he could, careful not to make a sound. He placed the forks down one by one, an inch apart so they wouldn't clink. Malfoy didn't stir. Harry swirled a stasis charm over the pie, wordless thanks to years of charming his coffee, and tip-toed over to the armchair, snagging a cushion off the couch as he went. Dinner could wait. This shouldn't. He was finally feeling like a penis wasn't the worst thing that could happen to him today.

He dropped the velvet cushion to the floor between Malfoy's bound ankles, tethered with the same thick black cord to the chair legs. He could move, but not much. Good.

As the cushion hit the rug with a soft plop, one translucent eyelid raised just enough for one grey eye to cast a gentle glare at the room. An eyebrow raised when Malfoy noticed Harry standing so close. It was a questioning glare that turned to astonishment as Harry sunk to his knees on the cushion. 

The look of smug satisfaction he was waiting for didn't materialise and when Harry placed his hands on Malfoy's knees and started sliding them forward, he merely looked pleasantly surprised. 

'Hi,' Harry said. His voice, though soft, sounded loud in the stillness of the room. Malfoy's jeans were warm under his hands, his thighs firm but pliant, long muscles flexing in response, his hip bones hard where they protruded above his waistband. Hands trembling slightly, Harry looked up for permission before he went any further. Not that he was sure how far exactly this was going to go, but with Malfoy tied down it all seemed a lot easier to do at his own pace and who could tell what was going to feel achievable when it came down to it. 'This okay?'

He got a slow nod.

Okay. Harry snaked his fingers under the hem of Malfoy's shirt, skin touching skin, the rigid elastic waistband of needlessly expensive underwear smooth beneath his fingertips. The heat surprised him. Ginny's hips were cool to the touch, and soft all over, he could grab handfuls of muscle and flesh and never worry about hurting her. Malfoy seemed almost delicate, his skin stretched over bone and his muscles flatter and firmer so there was almost no give as Harry gripped his waist and slid his calloused hands over the planes of his stomach and up until he felt ribs at his fingertips and the fabric of Malfoy's shirt got tight against his wrists. Harry wanted to see more, to be able to touch it. For research. His eyes flicked back up to gauge for a reaction as he moved to undo a few buttons. Grey eyes held him in place for a moment before Harry managed to look away and focus on the shirt. This was more in his realm of experience. Hogwarts uniforms had a lot of buttons and he'd got pretty quick at dispensing with them in the heat of the moment. With one hand, eyes shut, in the dark. Being able to see them clearly only made the task easier and faster as muscle memory took over. Without really thinking too much about it, he flicked the top button on Malfoy's jeans as well, only to find more buttons where he had expected a zip, and he watched as his fingers kept going, tugging the fabric toward him so that his knuckles barely scraped the swelling flesh beneath them. The careful, controlled breaths above him paused almost imperceptibly. Interesting. 

Malfoy hadn't mocked him once, not even an eye roll since he'd been  _ incarcerus _ 'ed to the chair. Harry popped the last button and let his hand relax and ease downward, nestling there in the soft warmth between Malfoy's parted thighs. He risked a glance upward over the rim of his glasses as he slowly, slowly dragged the back of his hand over everything on offer, eliciting a soft whine from Malfoy. Harry saw something in his eyes, then, that reminded him he was more than capable of getting a favourable reaction from a  _ girl _ , even if he had no subtlety - and subtlety probably wasn't something any guy wanted anyway. Malfoy looked  _ nervous _ . Not a bad sort of nervous, more… anticipatory. Unsure. For once. Maybe in bed he was better at everything, but this was the living room, and maybe that was different enough. Harry dipped into his memory and decided to start with something familiar. Reaching both hands forward, he grabbed Malfoy by the hips and yanked him forward, tipping his top half back in the chair and ruining the straight-backed posture he'd been holding. With his lower half closer, and leaning back the way he was now, Harry had much better access to… everything. He leaned over and kissed just above an angular hip bone, then right on it where the skin was thinnest and most sensitive, licking it and listening for a reaction. He felt muscles flex under his fingers and a barely suppressed sigh tickled the top of his head. Very interesting. Harry felt an indignant sort of pride as he continued, eliciting a muffled squeak from Malfoy, finally, after only a minute and a little bit of localised suction that made a lovely little bruise on his hip. He wasn't actually hopeless, at least half of this beginning bit was the same stuff he'd already done. Only the dick bit was different, and without bossy-pants looming over him, or the need to multitask, it didn't seem so difficult. Scary still, but not hard. Well, actually, something was getting hard, because it was poking him in the throat, and that was definitely a new experience. He trailed kisses across Malfoy's flat, pale stomach as he nudged his knees further apart with his elbow and slid his hand between them. He'd touched his own dick a lot. The sensation of touching and being touched were intertwined; touching a dick and only being able to feel it with his hand was a strange sensation. Not a bad sensation, though. Malfoy's dick felt a lot like his own so far. He covered the length of it with his hand, squeezing gently and earning another throaty groan. He kissed his way along the elastic waistband from hip to hip, waiting for  Malfoy's breathing to get less regular, teasing him like he used to tease Gin when they had time for such things and before she ruined it for both of them. He ran his teeth over the sensitive bit of Malfoy's other hip and heard him hiss out a breath. So he liked teeth then… Harry could work with that. He shuffled forward on the cushion and worked his way up to Malfoy's waist with nibbling kisses til he reached the spot he was looking for and took a bigger bite, a firm press of teeth into soft flesh, right under the ribs. Malfoy twitched and gasped and pushed into Harry's hand. Wow. That was… glorious. He went for the spot again, while his free hand found the wide elastic that was keeping Malfoy contained. That needed to go. But how? He couldn't get Malfoy's jeans or underwear off without them pulling his knees closer together, which wouldn't be helpful, and even then his feet were tied to the chair. Could he banish them? That seemed kind of an extreme option, and pulling his wand out might seem a bit aggressive when Malfoy was already mostly incapacitated. But it would make the casting of contraceptive charms almost unnoticeable. Malfoy had proven his ability to do them wandlessly earlier but all Harry could manage without his wand was a bit of lube and a  _ Scorgify _ he was afraid to use on his skin. He got his fingers under the elastic and gave it a gentle tug. Maybe he didn't need to get them completely off, maybe he just needed to get them out of the way. He never really enjoyed that hurried, claustrophobically-tangled-in-clothes sort of sex himself, he liked to feel the cool air on his legs, it heightened the contrast of whatever warm, wet heat he was plundering at the time. But maybe Malfoy didn't mind it. 

Harry dug his teeth in again, relishing the muffled growl and writhing, as well as the huffy noise when he took his hand away and gripped the elastic instead, sliding it down Malfoy's arse before carefully pulling it away from where it hugged his erection and pushing his underwear as far down his thighs as he could get it without putting an end to the nibbling and actually watching what he was doing. Which was beginning to look a lot like giving his first blowjob. To Malfoy, who was giving all indications of being rather pleased with the idea. Freed, his cock went back to poking Harry in the throat, the tip sliding over his adams apple and leaving a wet trail of affection to grow cold as Harry took one last, vigorous bite out of Malfoy's side. He grabbed it without thinking, just to stop it from tickling him, and realised that for the first time in his life, he had another man's cock in his hand, and it was good, and he was so, so gay right now. He smiled against the warm skin of Malfoy's belly, and gave him a slow tug, finding the sensation all at once familiar, and way cooler than just touching himself. Awesome.

He did it again, slowly, using the pressure he liked himself, concentrating on the corona, letting pre-cum ease the slide of skin on skin, slowly kissing his way back to centre across Malfoy's ridiculously lush abs. A contraceptive charm was probably in order.  _ Awkward _ . He'd have to stop what he was doing and probably make eye contact. Though…

He rather liked eye contact. It was always nice to know the person knobbing you knew who you were and was there between your legs on purpose. Could he manage that? Would it ruin it if he looked all cocky all of a sudden? Was Malfoy only attracted to his hapless, sexually useless self? Was he attracted to him at all? He'd never said he was, just that he'd liked the initial kissing and that he liked sex in general. The line blurred on who was using who. Harry's own burgeoning erection pointed out that maybe it didn't matter.

He sat back. 

Malfoy's eyes flicked open, pupils black and full, expression unreadable. 

Harry twisted his wrist and watched those pale eyelids flutter slightly, quickened his stroke and saw an intake of breath, lips parting and chest rising in the same instant. This was excellent. He smiled, he couldn't help it. Malfoy tried to scowl at him but Harry was ready for it and added a twist to every upstroke, til the scowl twitched and was gone, eyes closed again and breath gloriously uneven.

He looked down at his hand, a soft brown amongst pale skin and hair; bright, flushed, pink tight within it. He whispered,  _ Lubrio _ , and adjusted his stroke. Malfoy keened and arched off the chair. This was easy. The heady mix of power and the familiar movement had him wondering why he'd ever hesitated. He hoped he'd eventually be able to stop himself and… progress. He let his left hand slide off Malfoy's thigh, and grey eyes snapped open, meeting his, curious.  

'Don't worry,' Harry soothed, and twisted his left hand behind his back to reach his right back pocket to try and grab his wand, only for Malfoy to wave his fingers vaguely toward his own crotch, a sparkling mesh materialising over his erect cock, still slick under Harry's hand.  _ What the fuck. _ Not just wandless, but wordless and… under duress? What kind of  _ practice _ did that require… Harry's hand stopped moving of its own accord as his mind did some rough calculations. Too much practice. 

Was he okay with that? That the thing that made him good at pleasing Harry was the fact that he'd pleased others before him? Possibly a rather unsavoury amount of others. Could he claim he was any better? He couldn't remember all of their names, the ones after Ginny. To be honest, he wasn't entirely sure he hadn't shagged Sparker in the loos that time he'd had to  _ Obliviate _ her, and wondered if he'd  _ Obliviated _ himself as well. He wouldn't put it past himself. 

Ok. He was awful. So was Malfoy. It was fine. Feeling a bit ashamed and a lot reckless, with grey eyes wide and gazing at him in what looked a lot like fear that he'd fucked up, Harry leant down and licked a wide stripe up the still sparkling shaft in his hand. 

Above him, the sound of hot, heavy breath was muffled by black silk, and Harry threw caution to the wind, because really, who was going to care? He needed to try this, Malfoy had volunteered for it, despite warnings it'd probably be awful. Besides, it didn't seem to be going too badly so far. And Obliviating him was always an option.

He tried to do all the things Charlie had told him; keeping his teeth clear, hollowing his cheeks, using his hand in time with his bobbing, swirling his tongue, cupping the balls, not going too deep, pushing the skin back a little but not too much at first, keeping a rhythm, breathing through his nose, humming so his throat would vibrate… it was exhausting and really hard to do it all at once. His jaw hurt after only a couple of minutes. It wasn't natural keeping it fixed in one position like this, how did people do this for so long? Was a rude to just go back to using his hand? Would he ever be able to chew again? How could he make it go quicker? Wait… did he want it to end like this? Would he choke? What would it taste like? Huh.

He pulled off, a wet slurp of a sound he ignored because it felt so bloody good to close his mouth. Gently, he eased Malfoy's skin back, revealing the shiny pink head of his cock, the slit moist with cloudy white pre-cum. He licked it, pressing his tongue into the gap.  

Malfoy  _ squirmed _ , a repressed grunt making his stomach muscles clench. Interesting. And slightly salty, bitter, just a concentrated version of the general taste in his mouth. Not awful. He went back in, pointed tongue tracing the same path, gentle at first, flicking back and forth along it as Malfoy tensed against his restraints, then harder, because if the muffled groaning was anything to go by it was good. He got his thumb involved, stroking gently at the slickened seam along the underside of Malfoy's cock. He moved his free hand between them again, wrangling designer underwear and jeans aside so he could maneouvre his fingers and get a knuckle on the perineum and press into it, gently fondling his balls as they started to draw up tight. That was a good sign. 

'Hjuuzus Mruk,' Malfoy said, his hips jerking forward and his cock ending up in Harry's mouth again. 'Dnnt Hmmp.'

Harry clamped his lips down and licked, and licked, his hands both moving in time with Malfoy's stuttering thrusts, massaging his length and gently pressing that spot again and again with his knuckle. Malfoy sounded like he was dying, until he let out one muffled cry and everything happened at once. 

Harry felt a pulse in his right hand, wrapped about Malfoy's cock. Less than a second later, he felt cum hit the back of his throat, the black cords either side of his head exploded in a cloud of silk fibres and there was a thunderous crash at the window and the sound of glass shattering right on top of the crystal decanter set sitting underneath it. Harry pulled back instinctively and felt the next two stripes of Malfoy's release hit him in the face, tiny poofs of black silk now glued to his chin.  _ What the fuck? _

He leapt to his feet to see the biggest fucking owl he'd ever laid eyes on right itself with a ruffle of feathers and an angry hoot, surrounded by bits of broken window glass. It was wearing some sort of leather harness, dotted with sharp copper studs on the hood. It looked miraculously unharmed. It took flight then, wingspan a good metre and a half and coming straight at Harry. He threw his arm up in defense, only for the owl to grab it in one beasty talon and thrust the other one forward with a screech. What ungodly bastard owned this behemoth of an owl?

Harry gingerly untied the parchment with one hand, cum still dripping off his chin, and wrangled it open, too afraid to try and claim his other hand back from the owl in case he got it back in pieces.

_ Potter,  _ it started, in familiar scrawl. He scanned to the bottom of the page.  _ Robards _ . Of course his boss would own an owl capable of breaking a plate glass window and shredding a man. He went back to the top and started reading. His breath tightened. His gut turned. He felt his fingers wobble for a second. He flipped the page over to where his boss had affixed a copy of a French newspaper article, and below it, a translation. He let out a breath, and with it, hope he hadn't known he had.

Feeling disgusted with himself, he wiped his face on his sleeve, trying to get every last bit off him. Malfoy watched him, expression falling from post-coitally peaceful to curious to full of… what was it? Guilt? Dread? Fear? He raised a hand, free now, and slowly untied the gag, shiny and wet between his teeth, and pulled it into his lap. He was silent. 

'Malfoy,' Harry said, his voice hoarse, dead. 'What the fuck happened in Paris?'

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for a good long chat over a cup of tea. And in the shower, for some reason. And then it's time for a good long something else.  
> ***  
> 

'Malfoy, what the fuck happened in Paris?'

'Uh…'

'You know what? I don't want to know,' Harry looked around the room through a mist of black silk fluff at the ridiculous gladiator owl and the broken glass and the man he'd just fellated, still half tied to a chair. 'I'm going to have a shower and see if I can get rid of this dirty feeling that's come over me,’ Harry said turning toward the door.

'What exactly did the article say?' Malfoy called out as he walked away.

'I expect you already know,' Harry yelled over his shoulder. 'Since you were there with your dick in the middle of it.'

'Come  _ on _ , you can't just  _ believe _ the media!' Malfoy sounded exasperated. 'And I'll have you know I'm quite particular about what I put my dick in.'

That was only mildly comforting. And didn't help the dirty feeling. All it meant was that Malfoy must be willing to put his dick in a lot of places, if Harry was the baseline for acceptable. And anyway, no one would be after the bastard if the article wasn't a little bit right about something. 

'If what they're saying in the media isn't true, why are you here?' Harry countered, swinging around and stalking back to stand over him. 'Why are you considering leaving a three year starting contract for a single season? What exactly are those 'personal reasons' you mentioned yesterday?' He held out the letter from Robards, with the article attached, and let it fall into Malfoy's still-naked lap. 'What are you running from, if not  _ this _ .' 

'I've done nothing I need to run from, thank you very much.' Malfoy winced, carefully lifting the parchment away and laying it on the arm of the chair. Harry noticed a small wet patch on the corner. 'But we didn't exactly invite reporters along to watch, so of course they got the wrong end of the stick when one tiny thing got leaked,' he stood up, righting his underwear and re-buttoning his jeans. His ankles were still tied to the chair legs. Harry half-hoped he'd forget and fall over. He didn't. Just flicked his wand at the bindings and they unravelled themselves into neat little coils.  _ Git.  _ 'That's what they do - they find out one thing and turn it into an intricate web of speculation and heresay. I would've expected you to understand that. And care more about what the truth was.'

'I don't really want to know any more about your sexual escapades, true or otherwise,' Harry turned and walked back toward the door. 'Clean up in here, would you?'

He heard a sigh as he turned into the hallway and mounted the stairs, a mixture of dull rage and shame still bubbling in his chest. Rage because, well.  _ His _ first blowjob, but what number was it for Malfoy? Apparently he was fucking his way around France pretty efficiently, with little regard for morals or laws or personal protective charms. Shame because… his attention had started to make Harry feel special, and now it was blindingly clear he wasn't remotely special at all. He was a fucking statistic. He was being used.

Imagery from the last two days flickered through Harry's mind as he reached his bedroom, and when he caught sight of the window where Malfoy had watched him undressing, the bed where he'd pushed him onto his back and rubbed up against him, and the bathroom where he'd taken Harry to the point of pleasure where he couldn't even stand… it didn't help. 

Especially since he'd rather enjoyed it… Harry supposed he wasn't exactly  _ innocent _ in all of this. He couldn't really claim he'd been seduced or enchanted, or dosed with love potion because, well, he wasn't in love. He just… wanted to experiment. And to use Malfoy to do that. Still wanted to, in fact. Especially now he'd proven his throat to be just as gay as the rest of him. Things were getting toward conclusive. Maybe there was a few parts that still needed some probing to be sure, but it was looking promising. In particular, the fact that Malfoy was now staying in his house indefinitely, and had no pajamas. And was acquiescent to being used. Enthusiastic, even. Too enthusiastic?

Harry attempted to mentally squash his hormones back into his testicles and re-focused on the facts the article had put forth, wondering if he was glossing over the horrors it had revealed because of a base urge to get off as much as possible. He'd been a very busy, mortally endangered teenager, maybe this was a phase, just hitting him really late. The things in the article were… not acceptable things. They were things that made him want to brush his teeth and take a long, hot, very soapy, slippery shower. They were things that were bad. Things that would, surely, not allow him to go there again, because Malfoy was obviously a slag and Harry deserved better.  _ But what if they're not completely true things?  _

_'_ It can't ALL be lies,' he sighed and closed the bathroom door behind him. And yet… he knew the media. Knew Skeeter, and how she would bend the truth, or failing that, invent it, just to sell a story. They'd paired him with Hermione, who was basically his sister, and insisted his godfather was a mass-murderer, and most of all, boldly told the world that Voldemort wasn't alive despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. He remembered being front page news; Undesirable No. 1, The Boy Who Lied, a pariah, all of it utter bollocks. The media were idiots. 

So why was it so easy to believe Malfoy had actually gone and done something immoral and stupid and… sexually inappropriate? He wasn't the same pointy little shit he used to be, touting archaic ideas of blood purity and elitism. He'd hardly been a model student, but he was far from stupid, and Harry had never known him to show any interest in anyone in school, let alone an  _ inappropriate _ interest. 

Harry turned the shower on hot and wriggled out of his clothes. His erection had wilted away to nothing after the owl and the letter and the article, but the wet patch in his underwear was still there to remind him. Actually, the owl itself hadn't discouraged him, the transfer from sexual excitement to pounding adrenaline had been seamless and equally rousing, but there was a time and a place for examining that little nugget of information and now wasn't it. He was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the owl's studded leather harness lying tight against the soft feathers?

Fine. There was a chance that there was more to his interests than Ginny had managed to uncover, with her thoroughly normal proclivities and tiny little hands. The fact that Malfoy had unearthed them in the matter of a single day was… irrelevant if he was as dangerously depraved as the article indicated. That sort of person brought out the worst in everyone. And while there was no way to know which, if any, of those depravities was fabrication, Harry would just have to err on the side of caution. By keeping everyone's hands to themselves. _ I can do that _ , he told himself as he stepped into the shower.  _ I just won't touch him. _

The thought of not touching Malfoy, however, reminded him of touching Malfoy. And the thought of Malfoy not being allowed to touch him made him picture Malfoy tied to a chair. And the soaping up of all the parts that felt dirty was very slippery and made him think of Malfoy soaping him up instead, and when he heard the door creak softly, he considered for a moment whether to pretend he hadn't, and let himself be watched while he dealt with the growing issue hanging heavy between his legs.

Outrage won out, and he turned to glare over his shoulder.

'Can I not have a second alone?'

'I read the article. I want to explain.'

'I don't know why you think I care.'

'Because you're angry, obviously,' Malfoy closed the door behind him and leant against it, wisely not coming any closer, and staying fully clothed.  _ Sadly _ . Harry's brain warred with itself over whether he should be sad about that, given the circumstances, and his determination to not allow any more touching. 'And I don't think I deserve it.'

'You seem very sure about that, considering.'

'I was there, Potter, you twat, I know what happened,' he crossed his arms, huffy. 'And I know what didn't happen, unlike the fucking gossipy trash that passes for journalism on this godforsaken continent.'

'And there was no chance you could wait to tell me your side til after I was out of the shower?'

'And miss the chance to watch you have a sneaky wank?' Malfoy smirked, but the humour didn't reach his eyes. He dropped the facade when Harry just continued to stare. 'Okay, fine,' he looked away and let his arms relax at his sides. 'I don't like you being mad at me.'

'Why would you care?' Harry turned away from him and rinsed as much of the soap off as he could without taking his eyes off the wall.

'I don't want you to…' Malfoy paused, 'regret… being with me.'

That was a fair call. Because Harry had regretted it, a lot, in the first moments after reading about the clusterfuck Malfoy had left behind in France. Before he'd calmed down enough to remember all of the stupid things the  _ Prophet _ had said about him in the past. Lies, half-lies, complete mis-interpretations of truth. Twisted quotes and fanciful speculation. 

But should he regret it? Did it even matter? Really? Would keeping their hands to themselves benefit anyone? Malfoy wasn't his boyfriend or anything, he hadn't cheated or misled him. This was all very above board, they'd both been clear on what they expected. Harry wanted to figure out if he was really bisexual or just going through a weird phase, and Malfoy apparently just liked sex. Very apparently, if the French press was telling even a modicum of truth. And if so, there was nothing wrong with any of that. Harry liked sex, too. Definitely with the girls he'd done it with, and so far with a guy as well. And the fact that the guy might be a giant slut… well that just made him more practised, and less likely to fuck up Harry's experiment like Evan Hunchkunkle had, and leave him wondering. So he shouldn't really care, if it was just an experiment - if it was just sex. Should he? 

He wasn't going to be able to say without more information.

'I don't really know what to think,' he admitted, ducking his head under to rinse the soap off his neck and back, relishing the chance to feel alone under the curtain of water and wondering if Malfoy was staring at his arse. Wondering if he was thinking about doing stuff to it. Stuff Harry was still feeling quite hesitant about due to the fact he'd barely thought about it and Malfoy had obviously gone well past thinking about and moved onto just sticking his cock in everything, all over the place, with very little thought. 

He flicked the shower off, and half-turned to find a pale hand holding out his towel, grey eyes averted in deference.  _ Interesting. _ He took the towel and gave his hair a good strong rub before giving his body a quick once over. He debated whether or not to sling the towel ‘round his waist or test the politeness of those grey eyes by walking around naked.

'I can tell you whatever you want to know,' Malfoy offered, posh accent all but gone in the quiet tones. 'I won't lie.'

'You'd say that if you were planning on lying as well,' Harry pointed out, but wrapped the towel around himself anyway. No point being an asshole about it. Yet.

'Got Veritaserum?' 

Harry did, actually. Part of his miniturised Auror go-kit. He took it everywhere with him. Just one small vial, but enough. He would have to explain what he'd done with it in order to replenish his supply, though, and Robards probably wouldn't deem this an appropriate use. Maybe it would be legit if it was to help him protect Malfoy, but then, why would he expect Malfoy to lie if he was only telling the story to protect himself, and not to get back into Harry's good graces. Or in his bed.

'Yes,' Harry said, stepping out of the tub and straightening the shower curtain. No need for a quarter-life crisis  _ and _ mildew.

'I'll take it,' Malfoy said, straightening up. 'Now, if you want.'

'Why would you lie without it?' Harry asked. People often tried to bluff their way out of being dosed with Veritaserum by pretending not to be afraid of it. It never worked. 

'I wouldn't lie,' Malfoy said. 'But I expect you think I might.'

'I don't think you would if my knowing was going to keep you safe,' Harry countered. 'Do you think it will?' 

'Is that all you want to do? Keep me alive?' Malfoy asked. 

_ No _ . 

'It's my job to keep you alive.'

'Is that really the only reason you want to know what happened?'

'No,' Harry confessed, out loud this time. Then panicked at the instantaneous smirk it earned him. 'I'd like to know if I'm going to need something stronger than soap to make me feel clean again.'

'So then ask me,' Malfoy huffed. 'Instead of insinuating I'm terribly dirty from all my assumed sexually devious escapades.'

'It's not really any of my business, though, is it?' Harry pointed out, and pushed past him out of the bathroom, a waft of steam following him into the noticeably cooler bedroom. He felt his nipples harden instantly and wished they weren't quite so responsive. 

'If Hogwarts' shining example of sex education is anything to go by,' Malfoy drawled. 'As consenting adults we should be able to talk about this before it goes too far.'

'I meant professionally - it's none of my business if it's not going to help keep you safe. Personally, it's very clearly gone too far already,' Harry muttered, looking around for his pyjamas. 'Since for some reason I give a shit.'

'I disagree,' a hesitantly suggestive voice sounded behind him. 'It could definitely go further.'

'Come  _ on _ ,' Harry spun around. 'If all that shit is true, I don't know how I could… ' Malfoy was very close, and seemingly enchanted by the rock-like little nubs on Harry's chest.  _ Bastard nipples. _

'Let me touch you?' Malfoy reached out and ran a fingertip over one of them, smiling when Harry failed to rein in an embarrassing shiver of… something that felt disturbingly like lust, clawing its way above the turmoil.  _ Will nothing curb this rampant curiosity? _

'Yeah,' his voice came out rough. 'But, not just because it's kind of vile, what they're saying, but…' Harry batted the hand away from his chest and gave up on finding last night's pyjamas, settling on getting out fresh ones from his chest of drawers instead.

'But what?'

Harry took a breath. Yes, he appreciated, scientifically, that Malfoy was better, and thus more useful, than Huckmindle, and yes, he knew the betterness came from experience, and yes, he did also  _ enjoy _ the betterness, but… good god, it was still scary to think of doing more stuff. Penetration stuff. Things he'd thought he'd have way more time to think about before they happened. He spoke to his dresser, completely unable to face Malfoy with his confession.

'The vast chasm of difference in our level of experience is… too much. It'd be like trying to arrest a dragon. Nothing I do is going to…' he struggled to find words. 'Make a  _ difference _ . It just seems pointless.'

'Even if you like it?' Malfoy's words were soft, almost understanding.

'Especially if I like it. If you don't.'

'For fuck's sake, Potter,' Malfoy let out a sigh to accompany the tell-tale squeak of the bed frame. 'How many times to I have to tell you I like it? I literally came all over your face ten minutes ago. If that isn't a blatant declaration of your appeal, what the fuck can I progress to that's going to make you understand?'

'I don't know,' Harry pulled out a soft old t-shirt that had been Ron's. Maybe it'd be comforting. 

'What's actually bothering you?' he heard through the walls of cotton as he pulled it over his head.

'I don't know,' he said again, and yanked out blue plaid pyjama bottoms, turning to sneak a glance at Malfoy, who was being suspiciously not a twat about this.

'Is it the allegation that I impregnated a 16 year old girl? Because I told you outright that that was a lie, yesterday, when you turned up at the pitch looking all…' A pale hand flapped at him, indicating Harry's general physical existence, '… _ you _ . Remember, it was the same time I told you I was gay, and you pretended not to care. Gay, as in, I like men, not women? Certainly not 16 year old girls, who are concentrated oestrogen and thus made of  _ worms _ .'

'But you also said you said you slept with some girl to try and produce an heir, so how can I believe that?'

'Ugh,' Malfoy buried his head in his hands. 'I never said that,' his voice was muffled. 'I said I  _ tried _ to. It didn't  _ work _ . If it did do you think I'd still be single and childless?' He looked up then, at Harry, who was standing there in a shitty old t-shirt, holding his jim-jams and feeling like an overgrown teenager, living a life that didn't include impotence or thoughts of marriage, or  _ kids _ . 'I have a duty, Potter. Or at least I did have. Now all I have is the never-ending disappointment of my mother who never gets to have grandchildren,' he re-buried his face in his hands.

Not knowing what to say, Harry went and sat next to Malfoy on the bed. He wondered if he should put his arm around him, be comforting or something.

'So why do they think you got her pregnant?' He asked instead.

'Because I was there when it happened,' Malfoy dropped his hands into his lap.

'As… an audience member?'

'No. As a willing participant.'

'But…' Harry took a quelling breath, confused. 'Can you explain?' 

'Could you put clothes on first?' Malfoy scowled at his towel-covered parts.

'Pyjamas are going to have to do,' Harry shook out his plaid bottoms and poked his feet into them, pulling them up under the towel as he crossed back to his drawers. 'Do you want some? I saw they didn't bring you any.' He dug around, looking for the newish pair of navy blue flannelette ones from Debenhams, in the hope they would be posh enough. Maybe he only wore silk. 'Why do you think those people broke in and stole all your clothes?

'Pyjamas would be good, thanks,' Malfoy sighed again. 'I have a theory. Do Muggles know what DNA is?’

'Yes. I didn't know wizards did.' Harry found the set he was looking for and pulled them out, upsetting a pile of other t-shirts he'd nicked from various Weasleys.

'We are quite smart, you know, as a people,' Malfoy frowned before his expression became neutral once again. 'I think they might have been hoping to get some off my clothes, for comparison.'

'To… the baby?' 

'Yeah.'

'Wow,’ Harry said, and handed over the wad of navy flannel. ‘That's creepy.’

'It is,' Malfoy agreed, taking the bundle of fabric and staring at it for a long moment. 'Thanks for letting me stay here,' he added, looking up through long, fine lashes, his pale eyes intense. Moments passed in which neither of them moved.

'No problem,' Harry said, his voice coming out in a near-whisper, like Malfoy's gaze had stripped him raw. The atmosphere was getting… almost tender or something. 'So. Willing participant?'

'Yes,' Malfoy looked away finally. 'Shall we make tea?' 

'Are you stalling?'

'Yes,' Malfoy said again, and stood, stripping off his shirt and trousers and replacing them with Harry's best pyjamas. Harry noted he kept both underwear and socks on. He also noted that nothing had changed since earlier in the day and Malfoy was still exceptionally fit under his clothes. And that his own dick was not one for stalling. Apparently it was one for trying to make a spectacle of itself.

'Why?' he asked, walking over to the door and grabbing his bathrobe off the hook before things got noticeable down there. He slipped it on and cinched it tight around his waist.

'It's…' Malfoy gave him a weird look as he walked toward him, blue-clad and pleasantly rumpled. 'Not embarrassing as such, but I'm not in the habit of telling people I'm currently shagging about other people I've recently shagged.'

Harry stood, stunned, as Malfoy walked past him and out the door into the hallway. 'Are we shagging?' he asked, stepping into the hall after him.

'Am I hallucinating blowjobs?' Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

'Does that count?'

'Thanks, Potter,' Malfoy turned and walked off toward the stairs. 'About that tea.'

'I meant, like, what's the line?' Harry scampered after him.  _ Am I shagging someone? _ 'When does this sort of stuff become sex and not just, you know, fooling around.' 

Malfoy paused at the top of the staircase and gave him a patient look.

'When there's  _ sex _ in the title,' he said. 'Oral  _ sex _ , you see?'

'Oh.' That kind of made sense, actually.

'Your naivety is adorable, you know that?' That note of smugness crept into Malfoy's silky tone.

'Fuck off,' Harry growled at him and shoved past him down the stairs. 'It's not like straight guys spend a lot of time going down on girls without having proper sex with them as well. I've never had to make the distinction before.'

'Two things,' Malfoy said as he descended, one slow step at a time, managing to look lordly even in borrowed pyjamas. 'One, no wonder you don't have a girlfriend. Two, 'proper sex' - How dare you? And you know what,  _ three _ ,' he raised an eyebrow, his face softened by a smile. 'Three, what would you know about being a straight guy?'

'Apparently only half as much as I thought I did.'

'Well,' Malfoy reached out and brushed Harry's fringe out his eyes. 'You're doing rather well at picking up the other half.'

'Thanks?'

'And there's nothing particularly improper about gay sex, so long as everyone can be polite.'

'Good to know,' Harry tried not to blush. 'Dish up some dinner, would you? I'll make the tea.' 

They parted ways at the living room door, the delicious smell of Hermione's chicken pie still present in the air despite the stasis charm. Harry was torn. He found the pointy git increasingly attractive, but Malfoy was caught up in something Harry would much rather not be a part of. He'd had enough publicity, good and bad, to last him a lifetime. Attached to the case as he was, as a professional, he'd probably come out of it fine, so long as Malfoy didn't die, and no one ever found out they were, apparently, shagging. But since they couldn't completely lock the floo because of Robards, they should probably stop risking being found out. Right? At the very least, Harry should make sure he wasn't getting it on with an actual sex pest. He needed to know what actually happened in Paris.

 

***

 

'So, what were you doing in the hotel room with the 16 year old actress if you weren't getting her pregnant?'

'Fucking the guy who was getting her pregnant,' Malfoy looked immediately alarmed. 'Jesus, Potter, you put Veritaserum in the tea, you…Sl-… you… I can't call you a Slytherin right now, but know that I want to.'

'I almost got sorted that way.'

'What?'

'Minor hat stall,' Harry said. 'It let me choose.'

'And you chose Gryffindor?'

'No, I chose 'not Slytherin' because you were mean to Ron.'

'Did you put Veritaserum in both cups?' 

'It was in the milk,' Harry answered, giving him a wry smile. 'I was going to have mine black, but you'd poured already and I didn't want to have to get up and make more tea. Or waste the Veritaserum. And I want to be honest with you too,' he paused. 'Apparently.'

'About what?' 

'Everything,' Harry said, starting to regret his decision.

Malfoy got a shrewd look on his face. Borderline sneaky.

'What do you want to be most honest about?'

'I'm scared of us going any further,' Harry blurted out.  _ Fuck. Wear off already, you stupid potion _ . 'My turn to ask questions.'

'Ok,' Malfoy smirked gently, taking another sip of his slightly-poisoned tea. 

'Who was he? The one you were…'

'Mathieu Lagarde,' Malfoy said easily, and Harry got the impression he would've told him anyway. 'He's a senator. Muggle-born and involved with both Muggle and Wizarding politics. Surprisingly quiet in the media on the topic of homosexuality, despite his affection for taking it up the arse. Though I suppose he wouldn't want his wife to know what was going on at all those civil infrastructure meetings.'

'You were having sex with someone's husband?'

'While he was fucking a 16-year-old television star, yes.' Malfoy had the good grace to look embarrassed.

'Did you really get her hooked on gillyweed cigarettes?'

'They aren't a thing, Potter, that's a universal load of shit.'

'Was the thing about the crup true?'

'Ew, no.'

'Did the maid really have to burn the sheets when you checked out?'

'No,' Malfoy huffed, then looked a bit shifty. 'They were already a bit… charred, though.'

'How?'

'You saw your ropes, the way they kind of… exploded… I may have got a bit over-enthused and set the bed a little bit on fire.'

'You set the bed on fire?'

'Yeah.'

_ How do I make you do that? _

'Okay. What about the marks on her wrists?'

'Unrelated. Like I said, it was three months before they got a picture of us together, there'd have been no evidence of having been tied up by then.'

'Was she tied up?'

'Yes. But not by me. And she consented to it. It was in the contract.'

'There was a contract? For sex? Did it occur to you at any point that that might've been a bad sign?'

'No,' Malfoy answered immediately, then dropped his head into his hands. His explanation came out muffled. 'Mathieu Lagarde is really, really hot for an older man. And I was a bit drunk that night. And I hoped if I showed him a good enough time he'd back some of the more liberal equality bills that were coming up.'

That was fair, and not particularly scandalous.

'How do you know what television is?'

'A friend showed me. I don't actually hate Muggles, Potter. I just didn't understand them for a really long time,' he raised an eyebrow. 'I'm not my father.'

'I don't expect your father would've been caught with his dick in a politician,' Harry said, quite sure Lucius was far too uptight for such things.

'For your information, my father wouldn’t have been the first of the Malfoy line to pollute national politics with an ill-conceived dalliance. Nor to get caught.’

'Were you? Caught, I mean?'

'We weren't discovered at the time, it was a non-event, other than the slightly-more-interesting-than-normal sex. I didn't see either of them again for ages, though Mathieu and I had been together before. Then Camille showed up outside the locker room after a game, three months along and demanding to see me. She'd tried to get in touch with him and he'd  _ Obliviated _ her.’ The disapproving look on his face made Harry’s stomach squirm as he thought of Sparker. He’d definitely keep that tiny secret to himself, then. ‘She could only remember me, but she knew someone else was there. The media saw us talking, got a photo of her clutching her non-existent baby bump, and put together the exact wrong idea,’ he sighed. 

'Why can't you just tell them it was him?'

'The contract is magically binding. I can't tell anyone but Healers and law enforcement. Lagarde is both handsome and very, very smart.'

'But not smart enough for a contraceptive charm?'

'Apparently not.'

'And you?' Harry was almost afraid to ask. Were there magical maladies of the sexually transmitted sort? Was he about to be The Boy Who Lived With Sparkly Genital Warts? Undesirable Sexual Partner No. 1? He Who Must Not Be Shagged?

'I always perform my own,' Malfoy said firmly. 'If I can't do the charm, I shouldn't be doing anything that requires one.' 

'That shows a respectable amount of self-control.'

'Slytherin thing,' he shrugged. 'Plus I slept with someone once while drunk and I… apparently performed at a less than satisfactory level. Never again.'

'Anyone I know?'

'Yes,' Malfoy looked resigned. 

'Ok,' Harry said, deciding to let it go. De-escalating. 

It took a few moments for Malfoy to realise he wasn't going to pry.

'Thank you, Potter,' he said, still mildly wary. 'Very noble of you.'

His expression was morphing into one of impressed surprise. Harry found he rather liked being looked at that way. Rather liked the idea that Malfoy might think highly of him as a person, and not just someone worth shagging.

'Do you like me?' he asked.

'Yes,' Malfoy bit out. 'I take it back, you're torturous… do  _ you _ like  _ me _ ?'

'In a way.'

'In a way? What kind of answer is that?' There was a look of outrage in those grey eyes, brow low and and an air of sudden suspicion.

'Auror answer,' Harry grinned. 'You know you can build up a tolerance to this stuff, right? Only lasts about a minute on me these days.'

'You…' Rather than disappearing, the impressed gaze was intensifying. Harry had out-Slytherined a Slytherin.

'Was my blowjob any good?' he asked, determined not to waste the opportunity and desperate to know the truth. He avoided examining whether or not this was the real reason he'd decided on dosing the milk.

'Yes.' 

Feeling bold at the rush of relief and the searing look in Malfoy's eyes, he upped the ante, smirking. 'Do you want to have 'proper' sex with me?' 

'Yes.' Not a huge surprise but nice to hear all the same. His dick seemed especially pleased to hear it.

'How do you want to do it?'

'As in, who gets to top?'

'Well, yes, but apparently ‘who gets to bottom' is an equally valid question.'

'Yes,' the posh accent descended into a soft growl. 'It is.'

'Do you have a preference?' Charlie had assured him that most men did. And also been careful to explain that there were a myriad of reasons why each man might prefer what he preferred, and that it was often hard to tell without asking. Sometimes it was dominance thing. Sometimes it was purely about the physical sensations. Sometimes it simply came down to energy levels. Harry wasn't going to know until he tried both. 'I'd like to try both.'

'I usually top, but I can be flexible. For you.'

'You can?' Harry felt rather dubious. ‘Are you sure?’ That seemed very un-Malfoy-like. ‘Why?'

'Yes. Because I want to be the first,' Malfoy gave up trying to hold the words in. 'And because you're really fit. And I…' he winced, and Harry was transfixed at the thought of what might he might be trying to hold inside. 'I like your cock. Oh my lord, Potter, I hate y-.' Malfoy let out a frustrated sound as the Veritaserum cut off his words.

_ So. Didn't have sex with a teenager or a dog or anything weird, no pending fatherhood, but definitely has a tendency to blow things up when he comes…  _

Harry was quiet for a moment, wondering if he was going to be mentally prepared for all possible outcomes of the evening and then wondering if there was anything precious in his room he should move, just in case he suddenly got over the whole sex scandal thing and decided more data gathering was required. 

'Where were you planning on sleeping tonight?' Harry asked.

'In your bed,' Malfoy sighed and slumped back on the couch, tea forgotten.

'With me?' Harry confirmed. He could just put his photo albums in the other room, everything else was replaceable.

' _ Yes _ . It feels safe,' Malfoy looked horrified at what had come out of his mouth. 'Potter, I'm going to k-'

'What was that?' Harry grinned. 'Are you going to… cuddle me?'

'Yes. Could you please stop?'  _ No. Never. _

'One more?' he asked, thinking back to a brutal game of truth or dare that had the Gryffindor common room in an uproar. 'What's the most embarrassing thing I could ask you right now?'

'How I feel about you,' came tumbling out of Malfoy's mouth, and his eyes immediately closed, hands wrapping over his lips in despair.

'What?'

'No. Please,' Malfoy begged through his fingers.  _ Begged _ .

'I'm sorry,' Harry immediately apologised. Too far. He'd taken it too far and in a split second things had gone from playful to awkward. Painfully, painfully awkward.  _ Oh good God _ .

 

***

 

Guilt made Harry very accomodating to Malfoy's wants. After they finished their pie in silence, he cleared the plates and did the dishes. Then he made him another cup of 'clean' tea and they'd talked very politely about Malfoy's theories on who might be stalking him and what they were ultimately hoping to achieve. He told Harry about how the French Quidditch League had been trying to suppress the worst of the gossipy speculation in the media (lawyers had been involved), and how they'd ensured he had secure transport to and from trainings and games to protect him from being openly harrassed (and photographed looking harrassed, and thus looking guilty). He explained how it was in the best interest of the FQL to have the whole thing resolved as quickly and quietly as possible (he was young and pretty and openly gay - a good role model for the youth of France and a paragon of much-needed diversity in an all male, all white team). Thing was, if the FQL  got wind of him even attempting to defect, that front line of defense might all disappear very quickly, making his life in France much less idyllic. 

But then he also explained how he'd been treated after the war in the UK. Even with Harry's own testimony a matter of public record, some people were stubbornly adverse to his freedom. He was an accessible outlet for their rage against a regime that had ruined their lives. No matter that he had been as much a victim as anyone else, and that it had ruined his life as well. There was no way to know if it would be different now, a few years on. He hadn't been back since. 

Essentially, Malfoy was being forced to decide whether scandal in France was better or worse than whatever ill-will remained in the UK, before either side found out the choice was being made. Either way, having the freedom to be out by himself in public sans harassment was looking like a distant dream.  France was obviously bad enough he'd risked a trip back here, and somehow secured an Auror guard, presumably without telling any of the British why he was being stalked and might require constant supervision.

The whole evening was heavy with the reality of the situation and Harry felt stiff and awkward and horrible for having made it worse. And if that wasn't enough, all he could truly focus on was the fact that apparently Malfoy felt something about him that was worth hiding. 

The thing was, there were two very different things Malfoy might be feeling and the reasons for hiding them were both equally valid. If anyone had asked Harry how he thought Malfoy felt about him a couple of days ago, he probably would've said, 'That I'm a Muggle-loving tosser who believes my own publicity. But also that I saved his life and so he can't hate me properly, which must really piss him off.' And being that Harry was currently standing between him and inevitable doom again (and having already saved his arse once today already) openly calling him a tosser would likely lead to significantly less interest in saving his life for a third time, should the need arise. 

Of course the other option was that Malfoy  _ loved _ him and was understandably a bit embarrassed about it. It was an impossible call. The sparkling shine of logic dripped off the former, the latter just dripped with Harry's own slightly sad desperation for someone to like him for reasons other than him being famous. 

Still feeling guilty when bedtime rolled around, Harry transfigured Malfoy a toothbrush and allowed him to choose which side of the bed to sleep on without bringing up how he'd found out he'd wanted to sleep there in the first place, or why he, himself, was allowing it. 

'I'll take the right.'

Harry was almost disappointed, he always slept on the left. The absence of true sacrifice meant he was stuck with this guilty feeling.

'I'd thought you'd take the side away from the door?' he prodded.

'But then I'm near the bathroom and your tiny toilet basilisks. And the left pillow smells like you.'

'I don't actually stink, Malfoy,' Harry sighed, feeling slightly less guilty. 'No matter what your stupid badges said.'

'I was trying to be nice, Potter, taking the guest side of your bed.'

'Guest side?'

'Yes, as in, not your side. Where you put your…,' Malfoy raised a suggestive eyebrow. 'You know,  _ guests _ .'

'I don't have  _ guests _ here, it's not…,' Harry rolled his eyes. 'I'm not some… I don't have guests, okay?'

'Sorry, Brother Potter, I didn't mean to offend. Only you were quite sure about not being a stranger to women, and I assumed, perhaps incorrectly, that you were civilised enough to shag them in a  _ bed _ .' 

'I do… I am civilised, but not in  _ this _ bed,' Harry waved his hand at the overly large four-poster that had belonged to Sirius. 'My house is unplottable, it wouldn't do any good bringing random strangers back here and showing them where I live. It rather ruins the point of unplottability.'

'You've never had anyone in your bed?'

'Ginny, in my old bed across the hall. Otherwise, no. I go to their place, or,' images flashed through his mind of a few drunken hook-ups that had turned out a bit too close to public indecency. 'Or we improvise.'

'A quickie in the loos, Potter? How common.'

'Not the-' Harry closed his eyes against the visuals. 'Why are we having this conversation?'

'I told you,' Malfoy sighed, his voice light with mocking. 'I want to be first.'

'You already  _ are _ ,' Harry moaned, still finding the whole thing a bit embarrassing.

'But if there's been a thousand women here before me, it does sort of tarnish that crown.'

'I have not had sex with a thousand women. What  _ crown _ ?'

'You could have.'

'I haven't.'

'And the last person you had in here was Ginny Weasley?'

'No, no one has slept in this exact bed, in the whole time I've lived here, but me. Please can we not talk about that and just go to sleep?'

'Hmm,' Malfoy sauntered around to the far side and flicked the covers back. 'Seems an awful waste of an opportunity.'

'An opportunity to what, exactly?'

'Deflower the bed.'

'We're not shagging, Malfoy.'

'Why not?'

'Because you're in the middle of an international sex scandal! And no matter what actually happened, I'm finding the whole thing rather a bit much to deal with right now,' Harry admitted. 'No offense.'

'Fine, but I'm offended anyway.'

'Of course you are.'

'Why are you letting me sleep here if you have no intention of getting off?'  _ So much for not bringing it up. _

'Because we've had a very long, rather shitty day and you said it would make you feel safe, and… ' Harry swallowed his remaining pride. 'You also said you'd cuddle me and I'd rather like that right now.'

'Well, fine,' Malfoy said, not meeting his eye. 'If it pleases you.'

'It does.'

'Good.'

'Fine.'

***

 

Malfoy was not a bed companion for the faint-hearted. For one, he really, really hadn't been lying about his intention to cuddle. Had practically demanded it and had insisted on being the little spoon, his proximity bombarding all of Harry's senses. Two, he smelled amazing. There was a mild temptation to stretch his neck forward and bury his nose inside the soft navy collar and just  _ inhale _ . Three, if there needed to be one, he was still very, very fit, even in the dark. Currently, he had Harry's arm wrapped loosely around his middle, fingers brushing softly against his abs as he breathed in and out. The urge to run his fingers over them was strong, and Harry's ability to think rationally was slowly clouding with fatigue. He was on dangerous ground. Any indication he'd changed his mind about the shagging would likely result in an inevitable progression toward something Harry wasn't quite ready for, even though he'd had a couple of hours to think about it now.

He was a little amazed to so quickly find himself in this sort of situation: at home, comfortable and safe, with sex on offer. Charlie was going to be so proud. But also, probably a little confused as to why they were just cuddling like an old married couple. Harry had reasons though. Fear and aversion to pain were good reasons. And a sex scandal.

As if sensing his comfort, and thus possible acquiescence, Malfoy sighed sleepily and pulled him closer by the elbow, tipping Harry forward so he fell across the small gap between them, landing against his back. Slowly he drew their hands up his chest, til Harry's palm was held flat against a warm collar bone, thumb resting against a softly pulsing throat, and he was left with no choice but to scoot slightly closer to regain any sort of comfortable stability.

With scooting and stability, of course, came the ability to  _ feel things _ . Malfoy's back was warm and solid, angular and muscular and nothing like a girl. Harry's nipples came alive again, pushing enthusiastically forward against Malfoy's shoulder blades. His thighs were close enough that Harry could feel heat radiating off them, the fabric of their pyjamas touching, but the press of Quidditch-honed hamstrings missing from this cuddly, domestic little tableau. Malfoy's gluteus maximus, however, was not missing. It was very, very present. And very, very currently touching Harry in places that he found… stirring. His rationality took another step towards that bottomless pit labelled 'arousal'. Having never been spooned by a guy, and no girl ever having really talked about it, he had no idea if a bit of a stiffy was going to be noticable. How good was one's behind at differentiating shapes? His dick was pointing downwards toward his feet (well, not anymore, exactly, it was kind of pointing at Malfoy now) but it wasn't like it was going to be stabbing him in the kidneys or anything… Maybe he should move his leg to hide it better. A firm quad would surely confuse the sensation and disguise his ever-decreasing grip on his hormones.

Of course, then, like he was purposely being difficult, Malfoy shifted his shoulder slightly, leaning his weight back against Harry's chest, and the feeling of the whole thing changed. Being snugly wrapped around someone was nice, but not a very  _ active _ position. When Malfoy uncurled slightly, though, when his posture became less passive… when his neck was suddenly right there, smelling delicious and looking quite biteable in the moonlight… when his weight pressed them together, all the way down to their knees… well. And then his right hand skimmed back over Harry's hip, not pulling, not even resting there for any significant time, just  _ touching _ him and disappearing again. Like a fucking invitation.  _ Do you want some? _ It said.  _ Take it _ . Harry's cock twitched and all hope he had of hiding his genital interest was gone.

He screwed his toes up to try and dissipate the energy building in his hips that begged to jerk forward and grind into Malfoy's firm, round little arse. Sheer force of will, the very same he used to fight off Imperious, barely won out. Malfoy was a cunning bastard though, and with a sigh, under the very, very thin guise of getting comfortable, fucking  _ wriggled _ further back so Harry was encompassed by his cheeks, a warm nest of loose flannelette and heat and temptation. Sheer force of will was not enough.

Harry tightened his hold around Malfoy's chest and pressed his swelling cock into the neat little space between his arse cheeks… It was immediately obvious that this would be even better with lube and no flannelette jammies. Which was fine. That would be a nice, small, easy step with no… insertion. Just a good, simple frotting. Or something. Harry could definitely get on board with that. It was a sex scandal after all, not a foreplay scandal. He pushed forward again, almost fully hard now, the drag of soft fabric making him yearn for wet nakedness. Would it be rude to vanish their clothes? They were both wearing  _ his _ pajama bottoms. He'd end up with an unmatched top in his drawer til the end of time, though. And ownership probably came second to respecting someone's genital privacy.

Well. He would just have to make Malfoy want to take his own trousers off. He laid a kiss on the soft skin of his neck and gave another gentle thrust. He wasn't disappointed. Apparently all Malfoy had been waiting for was an undeniable indication of interest, and kissing must've fit that. He rolled his hips back, setting a lazy rhythm, and his hand came to Harry's hip again, pulling him closer each time. What beautiful torture this was. The trousers needed to go. Magic still seemed a little abrupt, and a waste of comfy fabric, so instead, Harry just eased his hand downward, over the hard ripples of Malfoy's abs, fingers slipping between layers of clothing and accidentally skimming the side of his cock where it was straining against his underwear. Well, that was distracting. His fingers reached a little further and wrapped around it, revelling in the solid warmth. He toyed with it a bit, seeing if it would inspire a trouser removal but he only managed to frustrate himself and increase his desire for skin to skin contact. He delved his hand under another layer, and fisted his hand around warm, hard flesh. 

' _ Lubrio _ ' Harry whispered, and his wand hand was awash with warm gel, easing his movements and earning a strangled gasp from Malfoy. He found himself immediately engrossed in the whole thing, his own thrusts losing their sense of purpose with the feeling of another cock in his hand, the hard softness, the familiar ridges, the unexpected twitches and throbs as his fingers moved. He lost himself in the little noises Malfoy was making, in his jerking hips and the pulse pounding under Harry's lips at his throat. He had almost forgotten there could be more in it for him when Malfoy's breathing became heavy and he had to stop or risk having to wait out his refractory period so they could try this again. With no shortage of mixed feelings, he gave him one last tug and brought his hand back to himself, tugging his pyjamas down on one side, then lifting his hip and yanking them down on the other. Malfoy, clearly not an idiot, finally pushed his own away. Harry silently hoped he didn't think he was about to get a dick in him. 

He whispered the lubrication spell again and pulled back to coat himself in it this time, utterly powerless to control the bone-deep tremble that went through him as he pushed into his own slick fist. One more whispered  _ Lubrio _ and he slid his fingers between Malfoy's thighs til he found his perineum. Giving it a quick press, he pulled his hand slowly back toward him, leaving a trail of slickness and, with only the slightest hesitation, ran a fingertip over that puckered muscle he was so carefully not thinking too deeply about yet. Malfoy let out a low, keening sound that, at least, made Harry feel optimistic for when he  _ did _ think about it. He lined himself up and pressed forward into the waiting cocoon of warm, wet thighs, an embarrassingly unmuffled groan falling from his lips as he bottomed out with his glans pressing right against Malfoy's bollocks.  _ Hngh _ . That was new. Normally, if he did this to girls, there was nothing else right there, nothing soft and lovely offering that touch of friction against his sensitive tip, nothing to really aim for without trying to figure out impossible angles with a stupid fat sausage for a ruler and no protractor. It was different to anything similar in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on. It was definitely,  _ definitely _ good, though. 

He laid his teeth on Malfoy's shoulder, not biting, just letting them scrape the skin as they started to move together, hips in time. His fingers, still slippery, went back to their previous task without any real thought, wrapping around a cock that wasn't his, while he thrust into slick flesh in a strange synchronous variation of sex, unlike which he'd ever really experienced. Malfoy groaned softly at the contact and flicked his hips forward, pushing himself hard into Harry's fist. The flexing of his thigh muscles tightened the space between his legs, squeezing with delicious pressure and pushing Harry further from rationality.  _ In for a knut…  _ He set a rhythm, controlled and steady at first, then more earnest, then merely frantic.

Harry was brainless, primal mush, and completely unable to determine what was more awesome - the sensations surrounding his dick and pushing him quickly toward orgasm, or the fact that he was apparently capable of doing the same to someone else. His teeth pressed into the fleshy curve of where pale bony shoulder met delicate neck, and he felt himself lose control, his body moving on instinct, desire, need for completion. He wanted to push Malfoy down on the bed and climb on top of him, pound him into the mattress. He wanted Malfoy to feel him everywhere, he wanted tighter, and hotter, and… he wanted to  _ fuck _ him. Without the ability to stop himself from thinking about it now, his mind flooded with thoughts and pictures and half-memories, all a tangle of trembling, slippery limbs and breathless moans.

As if his imagination and reality were intermingling, Malfoy chose that moment to gasp out a breath, his legs tightening around Harry and his fingers clutching fiercely at his pillow, pulling it against his face to muffle the breathless curses spilling forth from his mouth. The heady rush of power at seeing him lose control hit Harry in the chest and he relinquished any remaining rhythm to the stuttering urges of his own hips, thrusting quick and deep and losing himself in his release, shooting deep into the crevice of Malfoy's thighs, not able to stop a guttural moan from escaping his throat, or his fist tightening reflexively around the cock in his hand. A shredded gasp responded and he felt the hot spill of come over his fingers mere seconds later. Milking the last of it from both of them, he collapsed in place, completely boneless and unable to move even to drop the softening cock from his hand.

'Jesus, Potter,' Malfoy breathed, half into the pillow.

'Uh-huh,' Harry agreed. A tickly sensation manifested on his nose, but he didn't panic til a featherlight touch landed on his ear as well and he jerked up… into to a world of white fluff. Descending slowly to the bed, and the floor, and, good grief, as far as the window sill, was a vast cloud of feathers. 'Malfoy. Did you explode my pillow?'

'It's  _ my _ pillow.'

'Let's not get into that again,' Harry collapsed back to the mattress and carefully extricated himself from his well-lubricated companion. A few minutes and a strangely citrusy cleaning charm later, and he was asleep.

 

***

 

If Harry had stayed awake long enough to imagine that waking up might bring some sort of potentially extreme awkwardness after the previous night's activities, he wouldn't have minded so much being woken by Robards' ridiculous owl. As it was, he was too full of sleepy rage to feel anything else. At least this time it was still on the other side of the glass. Unfortunately that meant Harry had to let it in.

Malfoy stirred beside him then nuzzled back into his nest of duvet and loose feathers. 

'Kill the owl, Potter, then come back to bed.'

Charmed against his will at that phrase, 'come back to bed', Harry slipped out from under the covers, still with trousers at half mast, and tugged them up over morning wood as he padded over to the window. Was morning sex an option? Could they do that thing again before breakfast? 

A blast of viciously cold air assaulted him as he opened the window and extricated the roll of parchment. He shivered and closed the window on the owl, who didn't even flinch, waiting with it's weird harness and demonic eyes, presumably for a reply.  _ Ugh _ .

He unrolled the worryingly long note where he stood. Read it. Felt his face flush red. Read it again.

'Malfoy…' Harry stood, frozen at the window, mega-owl boring twin holes into his back, the thin glow of morning sun doing nothing to soften the suddenly ominous mood. 'You're going to want to read this.'

  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Breakfast/In Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry sees a darkness at the end of the tunnel and decides to take an alternative route. By the end of it, he's come to understand how hard life is. All puns intended.  
> ***  
> 

'Malfoy… You're going to want to read this,' Harry sighed.

'Come back to bed, Potter,' came the muffled reply.

Harry scowled at him. This wasn't good, it wasn't remotely good. It was… bloody not good. And like hell should he be dealing with it by himself. It's not like any of this was his fault. But  _ of course  _ Malfoy was not a morning person. With his tousled hair and his pale neck dotted with tiny reddish purple marks, the signs of last night's fun blatantly apparent. That was probably about to be over though. The fun. 

However… if yesterday was anything to go by, despite Malfoy not being a morning person, he  _ was _ a morning  _ wank _ person… Robards might have the power to fuck this up, and the evidence of that might be sitting in Harry's hand, but until Malfoy knew that, maybe he could just let it slide? Enjoy what was on offer? One last go round before… well. Before everything went to utter shit. Fuck Robards. Fuck the fucking French. Fuck Mathieu Legarde and the teenage slutbag who'd landed Malfoy in this inexplicable mess. 

However… if he wasn't in this mess, he wouldn't be here in England, or London, or Harry's house, or his bed. Maybe just 'fuck the press' would be appropriate. Yes. And maybe just a little bit of 'fuck Malfoy', this morning, before it was all taken away.

Harry drew the curtain over the owl, who was still staring through the dusty pane, and moved back around to his side of the bed. He placed the letter, the instructions as it were, on his bedside table, and placed his glasses carefully on top of it. The sheets were warm and welcoming as they closed around him and he contemplated going back to sleep for two whole seconds before his gut reminded him what else was available. He sidled up against his companion, wrapping his body around him from behind, and nuzzled into the pale, lightly-marked neck.

'This isn't sleeping, Potter.'

'No,' he set a wet kiss down on the skin under his mouth. 'It isn't.'

'What is it?'

'Isn't it obvious?'

'The general theme, maybe. But you've the chaste intentions of a blushing virgin girl, Potter,' he stated. 'If you're going to wake me up it had better be worth my while.'

'You weren't complaining last night.'

'I was already awake then.'

'You're awake now.'

'I'm not.'

Harry slid a hand down from Malfoy's chest to find what felt suspiciously like a fair-to-middling erection.

'You seem quite awake.'

'You're going to have to do more than pat it gently on the head to wake it up properly.'

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He whispered the charm and delved under the tented layers of clothing, kissing Malfoy's bruised shoulder and feeling his vibrating moan of approval against his lips, right as his hand made contact with a quickly hardening cock. He gave him one long, lazy stroke, bringing his fist all the way from base to tip and off completely before reversing the action, holding his fingers in a tight circle as he pushed back down. He did it again, slowly, his own erection no doubt making itself felt against Malfoy’s pert arse and loving that that was okay. On his next slow down stroke, he pushed his hips forward in time with his hand, his fist and his crotch pressed tight on either side of Malfoy's pelvis. Not tight enough though. He slid his hand off and, in no rush this time, pushed his own trousers down and all the way off. Knowing he was welcome, he then tugged at Malfoy's trousers, slipping them over his arse, and when he lifted his hips, dragging them all the way down to his knees before he hooked his foot in the waistband, pushed downward and dispensed with them completely. This was better. Freer. More naked. Good.

He slicked himself up with a quick _Lubrio_ and a few swift tugs and then his hand with another, and delved back between Malfoy's thighs. This time, when he skated a finger over his hole, he didn't hesitate, and the answering hum of pleasure and surprise was expected. And not unappreciated. Maybe… Could he touch it again, on purpose? Not just, well… in passing? Theoretically he was going to be touching it a lot if they ever actually… _Did it_. He'd genuinely thought about sticking his dick in it last night, so, really, touching it a bit with a finger was nothing. He ran his hand back between Malfoy's thighs, skimming a finger over his sac, the soft puff of his perineum, and back over that puckered hole, pressing down ever so slightly. Malfoy made the most pathetic sound so far. He must've known it, because he half-turned his body and planted his face in his one unexploded pillow and let out another muffled groan that sounded a lot like, _'for fuck’s sake, Potter'._

Harry couldn't move. Could one tiny thing really do so much? Was that one of the secrets to undoing Malfoy, to making him lose it completely? He slid his hand back between his pale arse cheeks, not going any further than he needed to once he felt the soft ripple of flesh under his finger. Malfoy was silent now, but his back was moving in a deep, unsteady rhythm that filled Harry with confidence. He pressed down and felt the tiniest twitch in response. Wow. He'd not really thought about it being… responsive. He eased off the pressure and let his finger skim back and forth over it, feeling the skin change from smooth to ridged, the ring of muscle hard and tight, but the centre of it… Soft. Delicate. Kind of… Inviting. Not that scary, really. He kept stroking it, kept listening for those tiny sounds of pleasure, and almost missed the rustle of covers, barely there at all.

Malfoy was touching himself.  _ Awesome _ .  

Though… It did make it painfully evident that no one was touching Harry. Was there any way he could get his dick in position between Malfoy's silky thighs and still be able to reach to get his finger  _ there _ ? He pictured it as best he could, his cock swelling in enthusiasm. There was really only one way it might work.

He gave Malfoy one last, hard stroke and pushed himself up onto his knees, keeping one strong thigh under himself and throwing the other over Malfoy's legs, straddling him as he shrugged the covers off. He shoved a hand under Malfoy's hip where it rested on the mattress and pulled up, 'Come on,' he said with practised authority. 'On your knees.' 

He wasn't sure it would work. It was probably fairly evident he didn't really know what he was doing. Not just now, in general. Charlie had told him a lot of stuff, and most of it had blurred into weird, slightly confused mental images that had no sense of physical sensation attached. So he was going to wing it and see what happened. 

Malfoy complied. He came onto his knees easily, closing his thighs loosely and positioning his left arm for balance while he lazily stroked himself. His breathing was slightly ragged and his hair was a glorious mess. He was divine. All soft skin and lean muscle and enthusiastic compliance. Harry felt a powerful surge of masculinity, and found himself doubting his own no-penetration rule. Then again, it was his rule, he could do what he wanted with it. When he wanted it. Which he still wasn't sure about. But what they'd done last night was fine, more than fine. And now, in the dim light of day, with a fit guy bent over in front of him, it was only going to be better, wasn't it? They didn't need to take it any further than this.

He took a hold of Malfoy's hip, and that wasn't even that weird, he'd done girls in this position before. But this time, he thought as he lined himself up and thrust into the welcome press of soft, wet thighs, some of it would be way easier. He wasn't going to be able to hurt anyone, they weren't going to start begging him to go faster or slower or deeper or harder, because with Malfoy taking care of himself, all Harry had to concentrate on was his own dick. Finally. He withdrew and thrust back in, the warmth and softness utterly lovely. He would miss it, after he had to share Robards' letter. He spared a glance for Malfoy's right elbow, moving in a slow steady rhythm, and matched his pace. Languid and easy, it all felt good but not  _ too _ good - no urgency, no demands, no rush to get off. Yet.

Now he just needed to get in there with his finger. Thing was, he could easily get his hand in position, but only until he thrust in and closed the gap. Could he twist his hand around?  _ Ow _ . No. What if he… yeah. Harry made sure his thumb was well lubricated and laid his right hand across Malfoy's tailbone to keep steady, sliding his thumb down the cleft of his arse. Harry heard a soft gasp and looked just in time to see Malfoy's elbow stutter in its rhythm. Good. The pad of his thumb found it's target - and the feel of it provoked a response in himself now that it hadn't before. How Pavlovian. Touch the button, hear the breathy gasp. Feel the dominance. Repeat ad infinitum. 

The response in Malfoy escalated this time. With no pillow to hide his voice, Harry was treated to a fully verbalised ' _ Fuck _ ' as he pressed down and massaged the sensitive hole, feeling it give a little under his thumb. In fact, the longer he played with it as he thrust into the soft wetness, and the more ragged Malfoy's breaths became, the more he thought he could just, kind of, slip it in. A finger penetrating someone wasn't sex; it didn't need to count, did it? 

Malfoy was clearly thinking the same thing, because he let go of his own cock and summoned his wand from the bedside table, pointing it back over his own shoulder in a practiced sort of way and uttered a spell Harry neither heard properly nor recognised, but definitely felt. A swish of cool, lemon-scented magic swirled over his thumb, under it, and deep inside.  _ Oh _ . Did Malfoy think he wasn't doing more because of cleanliness? Would he be offended if Harry still didn't? But was there any real reason not to? He'd been thinking about it anyway, at least now he had some very strongly implied consent. He pushed with the pad of his thumb, feeling the muscle ease away from his touch, and instead of pulling back, he crooked his finger and pressed in. Just a little. It was hot. Tight. And the fucking  _ growl _ that came out of his companion, and the tensing of his thighs around Harry's cock, and the reflexive squeeze around his thumb… That was all marvellous. He thrust his hips harder, fingers digging in where they were wrapped around Malfoy's hip. And his other hand… That also dug in. He pushed deeper, past the tight gauntlet of muscle and into a soft, soft cavity, walls like wet satin. It felt wicked. He pulled out and pressed back in again, faster this time, and Malfoy growled again.

'You fucking tease,' he panted. ' _ More _ .'

Harry was getting close already, but being begged for more was… definitely, definitely helping matters along.

'More what?' he asked, knowing but wanting to hear it. Instead of answering, Malfoy thrust backward, impaling himself completely, up to the hilt, and groaning in delight. Harry was lost. This was never going to be enough now, not with this new knowledge of what it felt like in there, and how much Malfoy was enjoying it. Realistically, he could still get himself off like this, slicked up and crammed between Malfoy's legs, but the want for more would still be there. And once he read Robards' letter aloud there might not be another chance…  _ Just do it _ . 'Yesterday you said you'd… be flexible for me.'

'Yes,' Malfoy hissed, 'Are you going to be a brave little Gryffindor today?'

'Not if you're going to be a bitch about it.'

'And what if I am?'

Harry caught the edge of challenge in his tone, the playfulness. The similarity to yesterday's provocation. He took a look at where Malfoy's left hand was clinging to the top bar of the bedhead and made a call, reclaiming his own right hand with a wet sound and summoning his wand. With a flick of his wrist, thick black cords sprung forth and laced around the wooden bar and the pale, slender wrist. Malfoy purred in approval, his right elbow speeding it's rhythm.

' _ Behave yourself _ . Do you want me to fuck you properly or not?' Harry demanded, pushing his thumb back in with careful slowness, secretly amazed that he could even say it out loud, let alone  _ mean _ it. 

' _ Yes _ ,' Malfoy gasped out a breath.

'Are you sure,' Harry asked, checking again to see if he was sure himself. Talking was one thing, follow-through was another.

'I'm not the one that needs convincing, Potter,' Malfoy groaned as Harry's thumb slid back into him. 'Get on with it.'

Harry withdrew his cock from it's warm, wet and now completely insufficient crevice, shuffling back a touch to give himself some space. He cast another quiet  _ Lubrio _ and replaced his thumb with two dripping fingers, pushing in easily until he felt the tightness push back. Charlie had been very clear: there can never be too much lube or too much prep. Harry had been confused at the time, since girls were mostly self-lubricating and pliant of flesh. The last few minutes had clicked everything into place in his head, though, and he reckoned he could probably get through this without damaging anyone. That said, the thinly disguised begging was nice.

'Want more than this?' he asked, his voice coming out far huskier than intended.

'Yes,' Malfoy gasped. 'Go slow.'

Slow he could do. He withdrew slightly, turning his fingers as he pushed back in, massaging the ring of muscle from the inside this time. Malfoy quivered. Harry shifted his weight onto one knee to give himself some more elbow room, and leaned forward to press a kiss to Malfoy's spine. Another to the tight skin alongside, slowly edging his way closer to the spot below his ribs he wanted to sink his teeth into, all the while twisting his fingers in and out, the resistance easing til it was barely there at all. He opened his mouth and pressed his teeth gently against the skin, barely enough to dent, surreptitiously pulling out to add a third finger, gathering his fingertips together into a point like Charlie had showed him, sliding back in 'til there was resistance again. And then he bit down and Malfoy's back arched, his hips pushing up into him, driving Harry's fingers deeper as the muscle stretched around his knuckles and pressing Harry's cock between a pale, muscled arse cheek and his own stomach. 

Not satisfied, Malfoy thrust back again, trying to drive those fingers deeper, and Harry's teeth closed around his side reflexively, revelling in the myriad of sensations. He flexed his fingers against the loosening muscle, begging in his head for Malfoy to be ready for him soon, for it to be time. He kept at it for a little longer, delving his fingers deeper and deeper, biting at Malfoy's side again and again before licking away his own teeth marks. He was shaking with want.

'Ready?' he breathed, not caring about the desperation in his voice.  _ Please _ he added internally.

'Yeah. Hang on.'

Harry did not want to hang on. He wanted to fuck Malfoy til his eyeballs fell out. Every nerve in his body was tired of waiting. Every bone, every ligament, every ounce of flesh just wanted to pound away at this newly discovered delight until he screamed, or exploded something, or… or something. Anything but waiting.

But all Malfoy did was look over his shoulder and cast a protection charm at Harry's crotch, before turning back around and getting a firm grip on the bed head with his free hand. Things got very real all of a sudden. Fortunately, Harry's brain wasn't in charge anymore.

With trembling hands, he lined himself up, pressing into the gaping wetness of Malfoy's arse, expecting the heat and the tightness but still not really ready for it. He thought he groaned, but it could've been either of them, or both of them, neither were in a state to be able to tell. He took hold of pale hips and for a second it could've been Ginny, splayed out on all fours in his bed across the hall, soft and eager and lovely, but nothing like this. 

He pushed slowly, all the way in, gliding with ease up until his balls touched and there was nothing left to give. Lube and prep for the win. He'd have to thank Charlie.

Fuck. 

Charlie. 

He said he was coming over in the morning.  _ Shit shit shit shit shit. Shit. Balls deep and this is when I remember that?  _ They couldn't exactly stop  _ now _ , though. He scrabbled to find his wand where he'd tossed it amongst the sheets and jabbed a locking charm at the door. That wasn't a bad idea all round actually. Robards wasn't known for his respect of people's personal boundaries. Not that Harry's professional boundaries weren't about to get utterly fucked. Oh well. 

'Okay?' he asked, refocusing on his companion, and it better be, because he might die from not coming if it didn't happen soon. 

'Good,' was the breathy response. 'Go for it.'

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He pulled back a little and snapped his hips forward, driving his cock back in 'til he was fully seated again. Malfoy didn't complain. So Harry didn't stop.

He didn't stop when the sweat started to stick his hair to his forehead, or when his quads started to burn with exertion. He didn't stop when Malfoy's knuckles went white around the headboard, or when he launched into a litany of curses, under his breath and savage when they could be understood at all. He didn't stop when his balls felt tight or when Malfoy growled at him, 'Fuck, Potter, I'm going to come.' He just kept pounding into him, the tight circle of muscle coaxing him to completion, like his orgasm was an animal, long captive, finally being shown an open door. And it leapt from him in a split second of blindness, a surge of unprecedented feeling - power and weakness all at once - as he poured himself into his former enemy and collapsed over his back.

'Well that was  _ alright, _ I suppose.'

If Malfoy wasn't panting, if his voice didn't wobble slightly, and his legs weren't trembling, arse still twitching sporadically around the softening cock still deep inside him, Harry might have taken offense. 

As it was, what he really needed to take was a shower.

 

***

 

Charlie didn't turn up til they were on their second round of tea. Harry still hadn't shared Robards' letter, and he was running out of minutes to do it before it seemed too much like he was hiding its contents. Which he kind of was.

Thing was, his new orders were… very personal. Possibly dangerously so. And certainly more specific than before. Draco, Harry was sure, was not going to like them. Even though they were for his protection. Maybe especially because they were for his protection since it meant he couldn't just fob them off. And Harry had always had the distinct impression Malfoy didn't like being told what to do. Had seen it the minute he'd set eyes on the snotty little git at the tender age of eleven. Even though his hair was less tragically 90s now, and his voice slightly less whiny, the stubborn set of his pointy chin remained unchanged. And he already seemed  _ off _ about Charlie being here, so Harry was quite disinclined to make it in any way  _ worse _ .

Charlie, in contrast, was annoyingly cheerful. And suggestive, and never without the ghost of a smirk on his face. Could he smell the unshared secrets of the last few days? Malfoy was no doubt highly suspicious that Charlie knew more than he should. Not that they'd discussed not telling people. Well, unless you counted the furious row they'd had after Malfoy kissed him in front of the English national side. But that was, by definition, a furious row and not a discussion. 

'So, what are you two up to today?' Charlie asked, his eyes sparkling with assumptions.

'I thought we might go into Diagon Alley for lunch,' Harry said, having a brilliantly devious idea. If he told Draco the orders now, like this, while they had company, he'd be far less likely to hex him. Or throw  _ any _ sort of strop, really, especially in front of a Weasley.

'Really, Potter?' Draco groaned. 'Public? In daylight? We'll be mobbed by commoners.'

'I dunno,' Charlie said. 'Seeing you two together they might be too stunned to move.'

'One could hope. Or perhaps, one could just not be forced to go out.' Malfoy sent Harry a glare. It was only going to get worse when he revealed their actual mission.

'You wanted to go out for dinner the other night,' Harry replied. 'What's so different?'

'Daylight, Potter. People, children, shops, yuck.'

'Well, we don't have a choice, it was our orders,' Harry took a sip of tea. 'Robards has decided we are to appear as though we’re socially engaged and undisturbed by the break-in. Present a unified front.' Well, that's not exactly what he'd said. But there was no need to drop it on Malfoy all at once.

'What the fuck for?'

'Presumably so the nasty buggers that broke into your room know that they're not getting anywhere, and to support the story that you're here visiting.' That was logical. Maybe he could just leave it there and never tell him the rest. Let his own longing looks and casual touches do enough to prove to the watching media that Malfoy was here visiting Harry… specifically. For... reasons.

'Are you  _ not _ here visiting?' Charlie asked, and Harry remembered he hadn't been able to tell him much over the floo. But this was Malfoy's story,  _ he _ could tell. Charlie looked back and forth between them.

'I'm visiting, but not socially. And certainly not this pillock,' Malfoy drawled. 'No offense.'

'Definitely none taken,’ Harry said. Malfoy really didn't need to know what Robards' letter commanded.

'Why does visiting require an Auror guard, and what nasty buggers broke into your room?' Charlie looked morbidly fascinated. ' _ You're _ not in danger, are you Harry?'

'He's fine, it was  _ my _ room,' Malfoy interrupted, all huffy. 'I got involved in something a bit scandalous in France and wanted a break from it, so I came home for a spell and a handful of morally-bereft journalists followed me on a quest for… information.'

'Well,' Charlie said. 'They assigned you the right guard, Harry's had his fair share of unwanted media attention. Remember that time you and Gin were forced to barricade yourself in a Muggle phone box and had to wait for Aurors to come and rescue you?'

Of course he would bring that up. It wasn't remotely awkward talking about his ex-girlfriend in front of the guy he'd just shagged. 

And why was Malfoy  _ smirking _ ? 'I remember that,’ he said to Charlie, ‘They kept making telephone jokes, like was he in there to give her a  _ ring _ ?' 

_ Since when does the Pureblood understand Muggle technology? Or read about me in the papers? _

'Yeah,' Charlie laughed. 'And  _ 'Is Potter actually Superman' _ ?

' _ Is The Chosen One a Phone-y? _ ' Malfoy mocked.

'Yeah, thanks, guys. I remember,' Harry ground out. This was a new and horrible turn of events, them ganging up on him.

Just in time to save Harry from further mortification, the hearth chimed and flared to life and all six foot two of Gawain Robards - Head Auror, and the man responsible for ruining Harry's morning/life - stepped into the kitchen.

'I thought I told you to go out for brunch like a bunch of Hufflepuffs. Why are you still here?' he yelled at Harry, before turning to regard Charlie with a aggressively accusative stare. 'And who the fuck're you?'

'Charlie Weasley, sir. Dragonkeeper with the Royal DKB in Romania. I don't believe we've met,' he held out a hand.

'Right.' Robards gave the proffered hand a calculated look. 'Aren't most of you dragon boys queer?'

'Some of us, yes.' Charlie retracted his hand, seemingly too confused to be offended.

'You got a boyfriend, Weasley?' 

'Yes, but he's a repostero,' Charlie said, and when Robards just stared, explained further and in more appropriate terms. 'A pastry chef. Not a dragonkeeper.'

'Right. You and your not-a-dragonkeeper going out with these two?' 

'I've not been invited, sir.'

'Potter,' Robards growled. 'Did you even read my owl this morning?'

'Yes, sir.'

'And do you remember how I said to make it look social?'

'Yes, sir.'

'This is what social looks like!' He lifted his hand and pointed an irritated finger at Harry and Malfoy. 'You two skinny little bastards, this hunk of man,' he gestured at Charlie, 'And his pastry chef are going to go out for a romantic brunch on the Ministry's galleon and you're gonna make damn sure someone gets a photo and overhears how fucking happy you two lovebirds are together.'

'What?' Malfoy said, his voice strangely neutral.

'Do you think that's really necessary, sir?' Harry asked, hopeful.

'Don't be ridiculous, Potter, you're all obviously gay, and we need a cover story.'

'I'm not,' Harry protested. Weakly.

'Don't lie to yourself, kid,' Robards rolled his eyes. 'I trained you and you have an abnormal affection for putting men in restraints.'

'I do not!" he protested slightly more enthusiastically. 

'Potter, your bindings always come out in black silk. Stop fighting it and get the fuck over yourself.' Robards turned back to Charlie. 'Good to meet you, Weasley, here's the cash, probably best I give it to the grown-up.' He turned back to Harry, jamming a finger toward Malfoy again. 'Go make it look like he has a reason to be here that isn't what it is, while I sort out this shit with the French.' 

'Yes, sir.'

In a flash of red robes and fire he was gone.

'Sorry,' Harry risked a glance at Malfoy, who merely looked thoughtful. 'I probably should've showed you this earlier,' he pulled the letter out of his pocket and handed it over. 'He's quite specific about what he thinks will convince the media you're… here to see me, specifically. Socially.' 

Malfoy unfolded the paper and read in silence, before handing it to Charlie. 'I'm assuming by 'socially' you mean 'romantically', and you're for some reason convinced that I'm stupid and would rather continue to be hounded by the press than be seen out on a date with you?'

'Yeah.'

'You really are an idiot, Potter.'

  
  


***

 

Brunch was actually okay. The sun was shining and they managed to secure an outside table at a fancy gastropub called The Running Fox that Harry had never been to. It was situated right on the corner of Khan and Diagon Alleys, so their table was well positioned for visibility - both seeing and being seen. Harry and Malfoy were able to sit with their backs to a solid brick wall, Charlie opposite Harry and Panero opposite Malfoy, all approaches visible and covered between the four of them. Not that they expected attack out in public like this, but it'd be good to see someone coming that might be useful to them. Someone with a camera and a gossipy eye that meant they were done spreading rumours for the day and could go home.

Panero had met them at the Leaky (dressed head to toe in pale denim and somehow pulling it off) and was going along with the whole thing admirably. He got right into the theatrics of it when Malfoy explained exactly what was going on in fluent Spanish with an accent that made Harry's gut swirl. Because  _ of course _ he was multilingual. Sexy bastard. Harry had enough trouble with English some days, the thought of being about to switch between two or three languages in one conversation was unfathomable. Yet another thing that put the two of them on uneven footing. He could even order breakfast better than Harry. They both ended up requesting the bacon benedict, eggs medium and bacon well done with a side of basil pesto. Well, Malfoy had requested it and Harry had immediately wanted it too because it sounded really good. He never liked making special adjustments to the menu like that, but if they were making one plate anyway, then making another wouldn't be too much of a problem and he wouldn't need to feel guilty. Charlie got something with sausages, and Panero, whose breakfast arrived before anyone else's, ordered a giant bowl of porridge. Not normal porridge, though, this one was pink with a pile of colourful freeze-dried fruit pieces and a drizzle of what seemed to be pale lemon curd surrounding a tiny rainbow flag. If there was any danger of them being mistaken for a gaggle of straight men, the gayest porridge in the country took care of that simply by existing. 

'I feel extra queer just looking at your breakfast, Panero,' Malfoy said, sounding almost impressed. 'Y el me jodió en el culo esta mañana.'

'Qué delicioso comienzo del día,' Panero winked.  _ Winked _ .

'Do I want to know what you're talking about?' Harry asked.

'You already know what I'm telling him, you just don't know I'm saying it,' Malfoy smirked.

'Photographer, my two o'clock,' Charlie said, appearing to merely be looking into his latte. 'Just over your shoulder, Draco.'

'Everybody smile then, give me a cover story,' Malfoy grinned, his teeth sparkling in the morning sun. 'Sonríe, Panero.'

'We make gay now?' Panero looked delighted as he reached over and laid a sun-kissed hand on Malfoy's knee, beaming at him. Harry felt oddly like punching him.

'Si, eso es bueno,' Malfoy purred.

The photographer, whom Harry thought he recognised him from  _ The  Daily Prophet _ , tried to appear casual for a moment, discreetly adjusting his camera settings and saying something to his tiny black dog. Or not dog, judging by the way it had just  _ nodded _ … possibly an Animagus. Harry wondered if it was registered. He mused a little. It would be easy enough to find out with a quick floo call, but if he left the table, the photograph opportunities would go away. Best to assume then, that the little dog that was now snuffling along the street toward the cafe, carefully taking a circuitous route past a flower cart to avoid being obvious, was in fact a reporter of some sort. 

'Tiny black dog, possible Animagus, working with the photographer, coming this way,' he said as clearly and quietly as he could. He glanced over at Malfoy, wondering how much of a performance they were going to put on for a dog. 'Ready, darling?' he asked, and smirked when those fine grey eyes narrowed.

'Nothing in my life could've possibly prepared me for you, Harry,' he retorted. 'Kind of like your hair is never ready for anything.'

Harry was too stunned by the use of his first name to bother with the accompanying insult. He should look away, really, but wasn't staring into each other's eyes what they wanted everyone to see? How easy it was to indulge. The heat in their gaze grew slowly with the prolonged eye contact, and he barely flinched at the feel of someone's fingers on his own, threading them together on top of the table for the world to see. 

A glint in the distance caught his eye and his head spun reflexively toward it. The photographer again, over by the fountain this time, getting a different angle. He looked away so as not to spoil the shot. Not because he wanted to look at Malfoy again.  _ Draco _ . He wondered where the little dog was.

The waitress returned then with the rest of their meals; Charlie's sausage-party-on-a-plate and two matching towers of sourdough and egg and crispy bacon, a layer of spinach for colour and a generous slathering of fresh hollandaise. Not to mention a pristine ramekin of verdant, aromatic pesto. 

'How come we don't get flags?' Draco asked the waitress before she could disappear, pointing at Panero's prideful porridge.

'The Pride flag's just for the special, sorry,' she shrugged. 'I can get you a very open-minded bbq skewer if you like?'

'No need, I've already been skewered this morning,' he winked at her, and she flushed prettily, giggling as she flicked a glance at Harry.

_ What the fuck? _ Harry's fingers tightened around Malfoy's as he tried to not visibly react.  _ You can't just go around telling people that! _ The waitress collected their empty coffee cups and drifted back inside. As Harry watched the last flick of her apron disappear through the double doors, he took a breath in preparation for laying out exactly what he thought about all that. But then Malfoy leaned over so his lips were just brushing the shell of Harry's ear… He smelled different today, like the shower products at Grimmauld Place, an extension of himself, but with that lingering lemony scent of his magic. Regardless, Harry was still going to kill him. Soon. Maybe.

'There's a tiny dog under the table,' Malfoy breathed, barely audible. 'Follow my lead.'

Harry shook himself out of his reverie. He was absolutely not going to do that if his  _ lead _ was to harass innocent waitresses with details of their secret sexual escapades. And besides, a lover's tiff would look just as convincing as canoodling would.

'No,' he said.

'Fine,' Malfoy whispered after a second. 'But if you won't work with me…' he sat back slightly, their fingers still entwined. 'No? That's not what you said last night. Or this morning.'

Harry scowled and felt his face flush red. Obviously Charlie was allowed to know this, he would've told him anyway, and Panero wasn't likely to understand most of it, but to know that everything that Malfoy said was being overheard by the sneaky little bastard dog under the table was just… mortifying. He didn't want all of wizarding Britain to know he'd been balls-deep in a man for the first time just three hours ago. That was  _ not _ enough processing time. Retaliation was in order.

'Your mother doesn't say 'no' much either,' he said, calling on years of school yard observation. Malfoy's smile dropped. 

'She's a very generous woman, my mother. You know she'd do anything for us.'

'That chalet in Switzerland you have, the one in the Alps, would she let us going up there for Hermione's birthday?' he smirked. 'Have a real blow-out.'

'I do love Switzerland,' Malfoy's voice was light but his eyes were narrowed. 'We should spend our anniversary there, shouldn't we? I can't believe it's almost been a year.'

Harry realised then that he could, indeed, follow Malfoy's lead and they would get their inch or two of press coverage, saying all the right things to sell their cover story. But the urge to bicker was strong, and Harry was still mad about what he’d said to the waitress. So he decided to fuck with him instead.

'Anything would be better than last time we went away. You're not allowed to plan things ever again.'

'Don't blame Delhi, you're the one that ate the street food,' Malfoy retaliated seamlessly, catching on to the game.

'Yes, so silly of me,’ Harry drawled back. ‘I should never put anything in my mouth without your permission again.'

'That would solve your drinking problem,' Malfoy smirked in triumph.

'My love of pumpkin juice is not a problem,' Harry countered. 'Just because you think it's childish.'

'Speaking of children…' Malfoy purred, batting his eyelashes.  _ Fuck _ .

'Draco,’ Harry said, buying himself a moment to think. ‘We've had this conversation before, men can't get pregnant. Do I need to draw you a diagram again?'

'Harry,' his voice was silky, ruthless, and wrapped around the word like a fur blanket. 'You know I love you, but you can barely draw curtains, let alone a decent diagram.' 

'If you love me, why do you always cheat?' Harry’s heart gave an odd little skip, just saying the word in front of him.  _ Love _ .

'If you actually learned the rules of chess, you'd know I wasn't  _ cheating _ ,’ Malfoy sighed, ‘I bought you a book, do I need to call Granger round to read it to you?'

'If she comes round are you going to finally pick up all your dirty underwear off the floor?'

'If you hadn't turfed your house elf out of the only home it's ever known, my laundry habits wouldn't be an issue.'

'If by 'turfing out', you mean sending to Hogwarts to live out it's retirement in peace and comfort, then yes, you're right. If there was someone to pick up after you other than myself, it really wouldn't be a problem,' Harry scowled, getting far too invested. That one had hit a little too close to home.

'So you agree we should get a housemaid?' Malfoy went on.

'Sure,’ Harry sighed, accepting that this was going to keep going. ‘At least then I might get something decent to eat.'

'Knowing you,' Malfoy raised a suggestive eyebrow. 'You'd probably try and eat the housemaid.'

'At least I'd be considering her pleasure before my own.'

'Or carefully disguising your impotence again.'  _ Ouch _ .

'Did it never occur to you that you might be the reason I'm so sexually unfulfilled?' Harry felt that weird twitch in his gut as he lied.

'I always assumed it stemmed from your inability to truly love another.' There was that word again.

'You think I don't love you?'  _ Because I think I do, actually. _

'I don't think you feel the same why I do.'

'Which is?' Harry wondered which one of him was asking - fake-relationship Harry or real, not-relationship Harry.

'Hungry,' Malfoy snapped. 'Can we eat, please?'

'You guys have got to stop having all these fake arguments in public,' Charlie cut in pointedly, his voice purposely light. 'Someday someone's going to hear you and think it's real and not understand how much you really care for one another.'

'Well it wouldn't do to say how we actually feel, would it?' Malfoy grumbled.

'You love, yes?' Panero, bless him, looked terribly confused.

'Lo hago, pero no le digo,' Malfoy shrugged slightly and they all lapsed into silence, eating their breakfasts.

'To be fair though,' Harry said after a moment in an attempt to ease the tension. 'You really do need to stop leaving your clothes all over my floor.'

'And you really can't draw.' Malfoy took a sip of his water and smiled slightly.

'Do you actually have a Alpine chalet in Switzerland?' Charlie asked.

'We do.'

'Can we go there?'

'If you like,' Malfoy frowned. 'It's bloody cold though.'

'Oh,' Charlie looked disappointed. 'Maybe next weekend then so we have time to pack properly.'

They ate mostly in silence after that, and eventually Harry saw the little dog slink away.

 

***

 

After letting their food settle, the four of them wandered the side streets off Diagon Alley, looking in book shops and antique dealers and spending a calculated amount of time in a high-end jewellery store, where Harry and Draco pretended to pretend to not be looking at rings, on the expectation that the not-so-subtle chap with the camera and the 'dog' would be in there asking questions eventually. They were careful to move on from each place before any members of the public built up the courage to approach. Harry found himself having an almost normal experience, what with the unfamiliar, totally unfamous company of Charlie and Panero, who tactically walked in front, and the slightly cautious response of anyone who happened to see past them and recognise Draco as well as Harry. No one, in fact, had approached him and vomited all of their irrelevant feelings over him about the war and his sacrifice and how very noble it was to be an Auror, still protecting them. A few shop keepers had nodded knowingly, or called him Mr Potter, but other than that… nothing. 

He wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that Draco was persistently trying to hold his hand. Was, in fact, actually holding his hand right now. Harry hadn't quite found a way to get out of it. He'd tried pointing at a few things with that hand, or adjusting his jacket with  _ both _ hands, or letting go to walk single file in some of the narrower spots, but Draco kept coming back. His fingers would find Harry's and twine their way into a loose hold, and they would fall in step and neither of them would mention what they were doing.

Occasionally, Charlie would cast curious glances back at them, but he never said anything either. Nor did the handful of young men they passed that looked one, if not all of them, up and down with open admiration. Panero invited it, of course, with his pant-melting accent and lithe form, scruffy hint of a beard and sunglasses that made him look like he was the famous one. Charlie had his own thing going on, with his bright hair and muscles that tried to jump out of his clothes. Malfoy was… just plain fit. And his hands were surprising soft for a Quidditch player.

'We should go to 'Wheezes and see if they're free for lunch,' Charlie called back to them as they emerged onto the laneway one block back and running parallel to Diagon. It was mainly repair places and supply stores back here, very utilitarian and utterly boring until you really needed flesh-eating slug repellent or the like.

Panero said something in Spanish that Harry took to be, 'How can you possibly be hungry again?' mainly because Malfoy’s reply had a strangely similar cadence to, 'I could eat…' To be fair, they'd been wandering around for a couple of hours and he was beginning to think about sandwiches himself. Having chosen porridge, Panero would likely be fine til dinner, such was the way of oats.

Harry wondered what Ron would do if he and Malfoy turned up holding hands. How was he going to extricate himself in the next two blocks before 'Wheezes? Less than two blocks, really, because they were already halfway down this section toward the little lane that would lead them back up to Diagon where the Weasley's bright orange storefront sat on the corner.  _ Shit _ .

Ron was an open-minded enough guy. He wasn't one to judge others on where they found their happiness so long as no one got hurt. That said, he'd probably expect Malfoy to hurt Harry. It was a fair assumption given their history, he supposed, even though the inevitable pain that came out of this whole thing was more likely to be based on the fact Malfoy simply didn't live here and eventually there'd be no need for him to let Harry experiment on him anyway. Realistically there was only one thing left to try. Harry would have to take it up the arse. Just to be completely certain of things. It would hardly do to come out as bisexual to all his friends and then be all,  _ 'Oh, but I don't do  _ that _.'  _ And maybe he'd even like it. Malfoy certainly seemed to. Harry couldn't help his mind from drifting back a few hours to the euphoric post-coital, pre-shower snuggling, as he'd lain with his head on Malfoy's chest, listening to his heart slowly return to a normal pace, pale hands carding through Harry's hair.

The group turned up the narrow lane and those long fingers were still entangled with Harry's, their four sets of footsteps scuffing out-of-time on the smooth cobblestones. If Panero hadn't turned around at the exact moment he did, and if Harry hadn't seen his expression fall from calm and happy to utterly, wholeheartedly afraid, he never would've realised there was anyone behind them. 

In a cruel twist of fate, both he and Malfoy noticed the change in Panero's face, and both reacted defensively, turning on the spot, planting their feet and trying fruitlessly to shove each other out of the way. Thing was, since they were already holding hands, they both tightened their grip in order to manhandle the other, meaning that they actually just got tangled and Harry never even managed to get his wand out before a stab of pink light shot away from the woman at the end of the lane, and all he could do was leap in front of Malfoy and pray that whatever it was hurtling toward him, it wasn't going to kill him before he experienced bottoming for the first time. 

He knew he wasn't dead when he realised that the mysterious hex had really  _ hurt _ , and he squawked, loudly and with feeling, filling the narrow lane with the sounds of his pain. He also felt really… weird. In the trousers. Had they damaged his dick? He'd kill them. He needed that. 

Vaguely, out the corner of his eye, he saw not one, but two witches scurry away, squabbling in French with Panero scampering after them. Bystanders gathered at the end of the lane. A blacksmith poked his head out the door of his shop.

'Potter, are you okay?' Malfoy's voice was sharp with worry.

'No, you fuckwit,' Harry snapped, hunching over. 'I'm definitely not okay, that  _ hurt _ .'

'Harry, what was it? Charlie asked, 'Are you bleeding?'

'I'm not bleeding. Nothing's broken. I just feel… weird.' Harry realised that was true, the pain was fading and he was merely left with the odd sensation of being… highly aroused against his will. Like his genitals had decided something was utterly fabulous but his brain had no idea what was going on. His groin heated and tingled and his dick  _ throbbed _ . He tried to straighten up and found the friction of his trousers moving over his inexplicably sudden and solid erection almost too much to deal with. 'Hngghhh,' he moaned.

'Let's get him inside,' Charlie said, 'I'll go round the front and open up the back door so we can go straight upstairs into the flat.'

He set off up toward Diagon, where more people were gathering, and left Harry standing in the middle of the lane with a nervous, twitchy Malfoy, not quite able to stand up properly, and sporting a very noticeable erection. He turned his body so that the flock of women staring out the window of the haberdashers wouldn't see the tenting in his trousers.

'Potter,' Malfoy said, looking pointedly at his crotch. 'Are you  _ hard _ ?'

'Yes.' No point denying it, it was terrifyingly obvious.

'On purpose?'

'Of course not, Malfoy, I don't have any sort of fetish for pain, or cobblestones or anything. I think it was the spell.'

'Oh. Then I might know what it was…' Malfoy looked thoughtful. 'I'm going to try something,' he said, and reached out a hand to gently cup Harry's jaw, stepping closer, tilting his head slightly to the side. Closer. Closer.

Was Malfoy about to kiss him? In public? Where people would see? Harry found the idea rather thrilling. Hand-holding was one thing, but to be blatantly kissed by a man, and an attractive one at that, a man like Malfoy, in full view of some strangers and a blacksmith and a bunch of nosy women, that was acceptance on a whole other level. Ginny had never kissed him in public. After that one time in the common room, it'd all been a bit hush-hush, behind closed doors (or tapestries) and never in sight of her brothers. Even the majority of his one-night stands had only kissed him under the cover of darkness and binge-drinking. It's not that Harry thought he was repellant, he was alright looking and everything, but no one had even been proud to be seen kissing him like this, in public. The thought was a little overwhelming. 

And then their lips touched, barely brushing together at all, and the whole thing became a lot overwhelming and Harry felt his body jerk and an all-to-familiar heat and wetness filled his pants. Had he just…?

'Harry?' Malfoy whispered. 'Did you just..?'

'Yeah?' he croaked, breath ragged. 'What the hell is happening to me?'

 


	7. Wet Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's had a hard morning, but things are definitely looking up now. He's got an awful lot of feelings to deal with though, as well as some... stuff. Lots of stuff. A conclusion in which Ron is horrified, Malfoy is Draco and Harry takes three showers.  
> ***  
> 

'What the hell is happening to me?'

'I don't want to make any rash assumptions, but-' Malfoy paused, his eyes darting up and down the lane. 'Let's get you inside first.'

Panero appeared then, holding something in his hand, flushed from running. 'In house, yes?' he asked.

'Definitely,' Malfoy said, standing so he shielded Harry from view and bundling him close, which didn't help the situation in his already damp trousers. 'Where the fuck is Charlie?'

They moved toward the back door of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, a virulent orange with no discernible door knob, edging out of sight of the blacksmith and the haberdashery ladies and general onlookers. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the door opened. Ron, rather than Charlie, poked his head out.

'Harry! What happened? Charlie said you got attacked.'

'You've answered your own question, Weasley,' Malfoy growled out. 'Get out of the way so we can come in.'

'Oh great,' Ron's voice was light and wholly sarcastic as he stepped back against the wall of the storage room to let them pass. 'Malfoy's here.'

'You are Ron, Charlie's brother?' Panero thrust a hand out, the mystery object still clutched in the other. 'I am Panero.'

'Mate,' Ron stared hard at Panero's other hand. 'What's with the specimen jar?'

'For come?'

'Right, get inside. No offence, but I do not want to shake your hand.'

'I find?'

'Donde estaba la cosa?' Malfoy asked, sounding oddly resigned to something.

'Estaba al lado de la salida. La bruja mala se lo dejó caer. Ella es traviesa y torpe, y debe reevaluar sus decisiones de vida.'

'Women in general disappoint me,' Malfoy said in response to whatever Panero just explained, shoving him into the shop and guiding Harry in after them. He was being gentle with Harry which worried him more than the fact he was pretty sure his erection was coming back. 

'Malfoy,' he whispered. 'Something's happening.'

'Yes,  _ that'll _ keep happening for a while.'

'What?!' He hissed under his breath.

'Once Ron remembers to host,' Malfoy said pointedly. 'Maybe we can sit down and I'll explain?'

'Yeah, yeah, keep your trousers on,' Ron led them up a narrow set of stairs, Malfoy ushering Harry up in front of him. 'What happened? Who attacked you?'

'Make tea and we'll tell you,' Malfoy said. 

The mere thought of how close the two of them were in the cramped staircase, after what they'd done this morning, was enough to set Harry's blood heading southward at a more enthusiastic pace than it already was. 

'You're pretty demanding for an uninvited guest, Malfoy.'

'Your best friend has been cursed and you're not taking proper care of him, forgive my utter despair at your manners.'

'Harry's tough,' Ron said confidently as the staircase opened into a bright living area, complete with couches and a fireplace as well as a small kitchen against the back wall. 'He's been through far worse than whatever just happened if he's still walking and only has one head.'

'Yes, now I'm convinced, you're a real pal, Weasley.'

'Could we just sit, please?' Harry interrupted. 'I'm not feeling so good.'

'I kettle?' Panero asked as Charlie appeared from another set of stairs that must've connected to the top floor, a curious looking George in tow. He handed the specimen jar over to Charlie, who looked at it with alarm.

'Where'd this come from?' Charlie asked, holding it at an arm’s length and looking around the room while Panero saw himself into the kitchen to make tea.

'Panero found it in the lane, over where the witch was standing,' Malfoy said, helping Harry to sit down. It was still unclear if all the touching was actually helping or making Harry feel worse. It was also unclear if worse was better, or if better was worse. He was aroused and frightened and that was a surprisingly terrifying combination.

'What witch?' Ron asked, still regarding the specimen jar with distaste.

'Someone French,' Malfoy said. 'Probably the press, possibly from  _ Supérieur Sorcière _ . They were after me, not Harry.'

'She got me with some sort of spell,' Harry added before Ron could formulate a question about  _ why _ they were after him. 'You said you knew what it was,' he directed his question at Malfoy.

'I said I might.'

'Are you going to tell me or make me guess?' Harry was not in the mood for playing. He was in the mood for a shower and a clean pair of underpants. 

'I don't know if you'll want to hear what I think it is in company.'

'They're family, I have nothing to hide.'

'You're comfortable discussing the situation downstairs?' Malfoy was trying to be delicate.

'Downstairs? Why would you be uncomfortable talking about being attacked?' Ron didn't  _ get _ delicate. In fact, he looked quite confused.

'I don't think he means literally downstairs, little brother,' Charlie said gently.

'Yes, I think that was a metaphor for 'in the trousers', George added.

'What's wrong with your trousers?' Ron asked. 'Did she shrink them or something?'

'No,' Malfoy sighed, resigning himself to the audience. 'But it probably feels like it, right Potter?'

He nodded miserably. 

'But how…' Ron looked caught between horror and envy. 'Oh my god, did she make your dick bigger?'

'Just tell me what's happening,' Harry whined, desperate for some sort of answer. 'I don't mind them knowing. I'd probably tell them anyway.'

'Fine,' Malfoy perched himself on the arm of the couch, carefully keeping a bit of space between them. 'She seems to have used a particular type of fertility curse. It makes the subject very easily aroused and very, very easy to… get samples from. So you're not completely wrong, Weasley - for once - but any size variation is normal under the circumstances,' he shrugged. Elegantly, of course. 'It's just the circumstances that are unusual.'

'How long does it last?' Harry asked, without really wanting to know.

'A while,' Malfoy hedged.

'So, wait,' George sounded fascinated, which didn't bode well. 'There's a spell to make you really hard but shit at sex? Isn't that counter intuitive?'

'Not if your main aim is pregnancy.'

Ron looked horrified. 'Was she trying to get pregnant by you, Harry?'

'No, Ron,' Malfoy sighed. 'The spell was meant for me.'

'Was she trying to get pregnant by you then?'

'No,' Malfoy explained slowly. 'She just needed a sample.'

'Why does she need a sample?'

'Why is it still going on after I already…' Harry blushed. 

'Because this spell isn't cast with the male's best interest at heart,' Malfoy explained. 'It's usually used in situations where he is being forced into an arrangement with a woman.'

'Oh.'

'So… it might last a few hours.'

'Hours?' Harry's face fell. 'But I…'

'It'll be fine,' Malfoy soothed. 'Just don't touch anyone or think of anything to do with sex until we get back home.'

'Sure, okay,' Harry embraced his sarcasm. 'I'll just do that. That'll be easy.'  _ Cause, you know, you haven't spent the last day and a half shagging my brains out _ . 

'There's no need to get snippy with me.'

'I just came in my trousers in an alley full of strangers,' Harry pointed out, and saw George slap a hand over his mouth in an effort not to laugh. 'My dick is hard again and it's only been two minutes. If I touch anything, it twitches. The fucking colour of the rug is turning me on right now, Malfoy. I am not capable of holding  _ anything _ in at the moment.'

George whistled low. 'That's an impressive refractory period… What did you say this spell is called?' He turned to Malfoy.

'I didn't. And I won't. Because it's unpleasant and I don't trust you to not make it into a joke and profit from the suffering of others.'

'Fair call, if you ignore the terrible irony of that statement coming out of  _ your _ mouth,'  George looked mildly furtive for a second. 'But to be fair, if you were having trouble conceiving due to any sort of erectile dysfunction it would be a godsend.'

'I wouldn't hesitate to call  _ this _ erectile dysfunction as well,' Harry sighed and glared at his crotch.  _ Stupid penis. _

Malfoy looked pained. 'I'm… sorry, Potter. This shouldn't have happened to you.'

'It shouldn't have happened to you either,' Harry pointed out. 'This shouldn't happen to anyone.'

'But it was meant for me.'

'It's literally my job to protect you from things like this.'

'Yes, but… I'm still sorry,' Malfoy awkwardly patted him on the shoulder and Harry's cock lurched with pure lust.

'Could you stop touching me,' he ground out. 'Not helping.'

'If you're going to send up white sparks again,' George cut in. 'I'd really rather it didn't happen on my couch.'

'Me too,' Harry said. 'I'm assuming there's no counter-curse?'

'Of course there is, but the caster has to perform it or it doesn't work.'

'Of course.'

'I should take you home,' Malfoy said. 

'You definitely should,' Charlie agreed, his voice serious but his eyes twinkling with mirth. 'I imagine this is something Harry'd rather go through in private.'

'How is it private if Malfoy's there?' Ron wondered aloud. 'Harry's my mate, I should look after him.'

'I don't think that'd be the best idea,' Charlie said. 

'Why not?'

'Well,' Charlie shrugged, fighting a knowing grin. 'Malfoy's safety is still technically Harry's responsibility so they need to stay together anyway. And he clearly knows a bit about the curse, so he can probably help better than you can with his recovery.'

'And the sex,' Panero added.

'The what?' Ron looked at him funny.

'They make the sex,' Panero explained. Beside him, Charlie covered his smile, waiting for the penny to drop. George was already smirking with understanding, flicking his eyes over at Harry and Malfoy, sitting awkwardly apart on the couch with an unnaturally exuberant erection between them.

'We should go now,' Harry whispered and stood carefully, taking hold of Malfoy's arm. 'Can you apparate us back to my place?' The lean muscle under his fingers was very distracting. ' _ Now _ .'

'Of course,' Malfoy said quietly, turning to hold Harry's other shoulder steady. 'Ready?'

' _ Hurry _ .'

The last thing Harry saw as he looked past Malfoy's shoulder was Ron's face, slowly turning to see them standing there in a loose embrace, jaw dropped and eyes wide with horror as his eyes met Harry's for two long seconds. The strange suck and pop of apparition tore their gaze apart a moment later as Malfoy transported them neatly onto the doorstep of 12 Grimmauld Place.

Harry stumbled slightly despite the tidy landing, gripping harder to the muscular arm under his hand, and feeling Malfoy's hand tighten on him in response. For the second time in five minutes, he felt the familiar tension build in his muscles and the tingling ripping through his veins, he closed his eyes and tried to breathe through it, then gasped as soft lips touched his own, so  _ so _ gentle but still too much, and he spilled himself over the inside of his pants again, standing out in the open, yet again, quivering on unsteady legs like a newborn deer.

'So we're telling people about us now are we?' Draco asked as he pulled back.

'Not on purpose, apparently,' Harry sighed, leaning his hand on the door to unlock it. 'Can we go inside please. I need a shower. And a drink.'

'Do them in the other order, it helps,' Malfoy suggested as he ushered Harry in ahead of him. 'Numbs you slightly.'

'Has this happened to you before?'

'My dear father thought it might help with the heir thing, so he shoved me in a guest bedroom with a pile of dirty magazines filled with simpering women and a quick  _ Fons Hominis _ and left me to reflect on it.'

'That's horrid.'

'Yes, and as you can imagine it didn't help me be less repelled by lady-parts.There's something particularly awful about your own father choosing your porn for you.'

Harry moved gingerly, trousers awash with semen and shame. This was a lot like a wet dream crossed with that  _ other _ dream where you find yourself in the playground with no pants on. It was a wet nightmare.

 

***

 

After a couple of skulled whiskeys (which felt like a terrible waste, but at least he'd used the cheaper stuff) and a cool shower, Harry lay himself down on his bed, flat on his back and completely naked. He debated sending a note off to Robards to report the attack and beg for a few hours to compose himself, but he was wary of his boss turning up unannounced while he was still inexcusably erect to see what was going on.

He'd just lie here and wait for it to pass. Problem was, when he wasn't actively thinking about anything else, he was thinking of Malfoy and all the things he could be doing with this erection.

'Are you okay?' came a voice from the doorway.

'We should go report this properly,' Harry replied. 'Before too much time passes. Robards will get annoyed the longer we leave it.'

'Robards doesn't have a noticeably persistent erection and sensitivity to touch, though, does he?'

'No. Not that I've observed,' Harry looked down at his cock, bobbing happily above his stomach. 'I should at least owl him.'

'I could floo,' Malfoy offered. 'Tell him what happened and that you're indisposed.'

'Could you?'

'I resent the implication I'm incapable.'

'I wasn't trying to imply anything, I just didn't want to put you out, and it's kind of my job.'

'I have a much better job for you,' Malfoy smirked, and pointed his wand at Harry's outstretched palm, muttering a quiet  _ Lubrio _ that filled his hand with warm gel.

'Why are you conjuring lube at me?'

'I told you, I have a job for you. Try and relax yourself, I'll be back soon,' he raised an eyebrow and disappeared into the corridor.

_ Oh _ . 

Harry stared at his hand. Then his dick. Normally a quick wank might be relaxing, but under the circumstances he was pretty sure Malfoy meant for him to use his fingers elsewhere. Was he about to have sex? The other sort they hadn't done yet?

'Almost forgot,' a voice came again, and with another swish of magic, a familiar lemon-scented charm swirled into the space between Harry's thighs and… deeper. He felt strangely empty all of a sudden. 'I figure you probably don't know that one yet?' Malfoy's eyebrow raised again and his mouth lifted at the corner, hesitant, not quite smirking this time.

'No, definitely not,' Harry said. 'Though I can see how it would come in handy.'

'Oh, it's definitely handy to come in.'  _ Yep. Definitely about to have sex. _

'That was terrible, go make the Floo call before I change my mind and drag myself into the office like this.'

'You wouldn't.'

Harry took a breath to disagree, before realising it was useless.

'No, I wouldn't. I don't fancy talking to anyone I work with while this close to coming in my trousers.'

'Not even Lisa, with her deliciously bouncy chest?'

'Lord no, she'd skin me if she found out.'

'I like her even more.'

'Go make the call,' Harry scowled.

Malfoy disappeared again and he realised he hadn't asked him for any tips on how to do this. Harry dipped a finger in lube and reached between his legs, nudging his balls to the side and touching himself… there. Under his finger, it felt much the same as Malfoy's had, except now that he could feel it from both sides he realised why it'd been so well received. Appreciated. His dick bobbed at him, and he wondered how far he was going to get til he had to stop and wait for a minute to calm down. Or recover from getting semen all over himself again.

He scooped some more lube out of his palm with his middle finger, since it was the longest and had the best reach, and gently rubbed his hole, smoothing the lube all around and humming quietly at the sensation it produced. This might turn out okay. He was still worried about it hurting, but at least by himself he had the freedom to properly take his time.

He pressed the furl of sensitive skin and felt the muscle, a firm ring, and that same soft centre, ready for his finger. He pushed. Felt both the give under his fingertip and the strange sense of breaching from within. It wasn't unpleasant, not at all, but it was weird. He realised he'd been worried it would feel a lot like… the other thing he used his arsehole for, but the sensations were vastly different. Whether because he could feel himself with his fingers, or because the intention was sexual, he didn't know, but so long as it didn't remind him of elimination he was happy with it. He pushed his lubricated finger further in, as far as it would go in this position and felt the sensations change as he passed the firm grasp of muscle and reached that soft void. He wiggled his finger and his cock throbbed slightly. He moved carefully in and out for a bit, getting used to the feelings, before swirling his finger in a small circle, pushing against the muscle from the inside, finding the resistance with careful pressure and judging himself ready for a second digit. Or something. He really wasn't getting all that deep lying like this. Could he turn on his side and come at it from behind? The risk in that was that his cock would brush against the covers and the friction might tip him over before he was ready. And although he could always  _ scourgify _ it, it'd be nice to not jizz all over Molly's quilt. He really needed to take it off the bed while Malfoy was here.

He settled for just turning the covers down (with his wand since he was a bit lubey) and took a look around his room for something to transfigure. There wasn't a lot that would lend itself to becoming remotely dick-like, and he was rubbish enough at transfiguration that he did want to find something close to his intended texture. He pointed his wand at a desk drawer and it emptied itself onto the surface. Quills, ink, old letters, a half empty bottle of cologne he hadn't worn since Ginny, and there,  _ that _ , an owl toy. It was a little rubber mouse that Deirdre had zero interest in chasing, back in the day when Harry thought he might be able to retrain her to hunt for herself. It would be perfect. After he thoroughly  _ Scourgified _ it.

Harry concentrated on the shape he wanted, smooth, tapered from the girth of one finger to two, to three. He pictured a handle of sorts to hold onto with enough grip that it wouldn't just slide out of his hand. And then he cast. The rubber mouse quivered, hopping on the desktop before bursting into a much larger, lumpy blob of rubber, then smoothing out into something that looked like… Well, it looked like an odd-shaped poo with a handle. But it was mouse-coloured, so Harry could ignore that. Plus it would get the job done.

He scampered back to the bed and threw himself on it, settling back into position and slathering the ex-mouse with what was left of his lube. Holding it in his left hand, ready, he checked his hole was still loose enough with his right, and couldn't help a few slick thrusts as his dick responded with want. He lined up his new toy and guided it in, the narrow end passing easily through the ring of muscle, and coming to a stop half way in under only the gentle pressure of one finger. He wondered if jamming it in harder would hurt much. Better to find out now, he supposed. He prodded at it, pushing against the natural resistance of his body. There was a slight… not sting, not burn, but stretching sensation, like undergoing a polyjuice transformation without the hideous bubbling feeling of your skin changing shape. It wasn't nice exactly, but Harry found he rather liked it anyway. He especially liked the idea of it being Draco making it feel that way. And when had he started to think of him as  _ Draco _ ? Why was his brain doing that now, lying here with a mouse up his arse? He put the question out of his mind and pushed it in further, closing his eyes as his cock throbbed again and he imagined being pinned to the bed by a certain blonde who just happened to be downstairs and would likely be more than happy to pin him to the bed for real when he made it back to the bedroom.

He was going to get fucked. For the first time, he would be the passive receiver of penetrative sex. He pushed it in a little further, letting his free hand loosely clasp his dick to ease the stretch and chase away the panic of bodily invasion that was threatening in the back of his consciousness. He was okay, he was good. This was good. He gave himself a quick stroke, spreading his precum around under his foreskin and then withdrawing his hand altogether before it became too good and he lost his control entirely. Already it was obvious that the cold shower and the lack of attractive company was helping him stay  _ contained _ , so to speak. But maybe he  _ should _ get himself off before Draco came back, maybe that would give them a little bit of extra time? It might happen anyway, he supposed, since he wasn't up to the hilt yet and he'd rather any discomfort was dealt with alone if possible. He didn't know how well he'd take mockery at not being able to even bottom properly, it'd likely make him more tense and exacerbate the problem. He placed his free hand back around his cock and pushed the ex-mouse further in. It slid deeper without much persuasion, and with a gentle tugging at the head of his cock, he was able to get it all the way to the handle without changing his mind about how good it felt. He arched his back a little as he kept on with the light strokes of his fist, and, _ why not _ , loose tugging of his balls - he had a free hand now after all. He could feel the thing inside him, pressing against sensitive nerve endings and moving against the strong ring of muscle. He flexed his hips a few times, trying to grind down on to it, and was glad he'd put a handle on it since he'd have likely ground it all the way in if left to go on instinct alone. It was  _ good _ . He set a rhythm, arched back and thrusting hips, letting his cock slide in and out of his fist in time. In moments, the spell had propelled him to a point where he didn't want to stop, ever, and to hell with ever leaving his bedroom again. He didn't hear Draco walk in, silent in his socks, eyes fixed on the wanton display in front of him. Harry didn't hear him removing his clothes, didn't feel him step closer between his splayed knees, or take his own cock in his hand a start stroking himself in time. He did hear the soft moan that escaped Draco's lips, and opened his eyes to the reality of someone very, very fit standing over him, getting off on what Harry was doing to himself, and the very thought of it was so deliciously filthy, Harry came, again, all over himself, with the new and amazing sensation of his arse pulsing around his new toy and Draco's eyes locked on his own.

'Looked like you enjoyed that,' he said, his voice breathy.

'A bit.' 

'How much?' Draco sounded hesitant, on edge. Like he didn't want to get his hopes up.

'Enough,' Harry smirked.

'Good,' Draco said, climbing onto the bed so that he was kneeling over Harry, hands either side of his head, staring into his eyes. 'I was hoping you would.' And he leant down, dropping his elbows to the mattress and kissed him, gently. Testing the waters, knowing he was going to be sensitive.

Harry's every nerve registered his nearness, in the heat on his skin, the dip in the mattress, and the tiniest slide of Draco's cock against his own. The kiss felt more like a promise. Despite having just come for the fourth time in just over half an hour (drying off after the shower had been a little too good, despite the whisky), Harry felt himself swell as those long pale fingers buried themselves in his hair, Draco's lips gently skimming over Harry's again and again. The tip of his tongue curled under Harry's top lip, finding the sensitive flesh there, running back and forth with agonising slowness. 

Harry's hands found Draco's shoulders, ran over warm biceps, the hard smoothness making him want  _ more _ . More contact, more skin on skin, more of him entirely. He ran his hands back up and over those impossibly white shoulders and down the other side, fingers spread wide, skimming over soft skin and hard ribs, finding Draco's waist and trying to pull him close. The kiss broke.

'Care to clean up first?' those grey eyes glancing between them at the latest of Harry's emissions. 'Or shall I grab my wand?'

An impatient wave of his hand and Harry vanished the mess, and the ex-mouse, and reclaimed Draco's mouth with his own. It was a welcome change to feel aroused for a real reason, and even though Harry wasn't quite recovered yet, he saw no reason to stop kissing him. Possibly ever. 

The idea of it all lasting beyond the next couple of days was a strange one. It made him feel good if he only considered what it would mean - that Draco liked him, and that it was satisfying for him, and in that, the fact that Harry must be okay at satisfying someone with that level of overt confidence and intimidating plethora of experience. That was a nice feeling. But then there was also the  _ likelihood _ of it to be considered. When he thought of it genuinely, actually continuing, he automatically wondered if it  _ could _ , which was plausible, and then if it  _ would _ , which was less so. What on earth would Draco need with him, hopelessly awkward and inexperienced as he was? Sure, he'd wanted to be first, but he was about to tick that off the list, and Harry fully expected his lack of finesse to harbour significantly less appeal afterwards.

Draco, oblivious to the ruminating, carefully lowered himself down between Harry's spread thighs, spreading them further still by pitching his own knees wide. Their cocks aligned, Draco's hard and dripping against Harry's body. His own was recovering quickly, not at the same rate as back in Diagon Alley, but still far faster than was normally, humanly, possible. The contact felt good, and he was very, very highly aware of the sensations, but not over-whelmed. Give it a few minutes of gloriously indulgent snogging and maybe he'd be ready for… that next bit. The thing he was going to try. Because he could and it felt good, and because he could trust Draco to be gentle. Harry wondered, hoped, really, that he would use his fingers for a bit first, just to make sure he was truly ready. How quickly would he un-stretch if they didn't start soon? He took the ex-mouse out already - should he have left it in there? Or did it last a while? How long? How do you ask someone to put their fingers in you? Would it be enough to simply show enthusiasm? He rolled his hips up, grinding against Draco where he held himself slightly above Harry, flush against him but not letting his full weight pin him down. There was a quiet moan of approval. The feelings were getting more manageable so he tried it again. And again. Deepened the kiss before pulling away slightly, wrapping a leg around pale hips and squeezing, bringing Draco closer. 

A gasp sounded in his ear. 'You recovered fast.'

'I'm feeling quite motivated,' Harry purred in a way he hoped was seductive. 'And relaxed.'

'Really?' Draco nipped at the taut skin on his neck. 'How relaxed?'

Harry concentrated on his hand, ' _ Lubrio _ ,' he whispered, then, 'Give me your hand.'

Draco shifted his weight to one side, inadvertently pressing their hips closer together, and it was Harry's turn to gasp. He felt fingers run across his wet palm and realised he'd closed his eyes. Opening them he saw Draco looking down at him, pupils blown wide and expression soft, almost worried. 'Are you sure?'

'Yeah, just,' Harry smiled wryly.  _ Be gentle with me? Take it slow? _ 'You know.'

He got a smirk in response and Draco pushed back off him, casting around for a pillow before tapping Harry's hip, telling him to  _ lift up _ , and fitting it under his back. With one last glance Draco let his hand drop out of view and Harry felt the lightest skim of warmth over his inner thigh, a soft tickle across the cleft of his arse and the wet glide of fingers finding their place. He closed his eyes and bit his lip, concentrating on not getting over-excited, or tense, trying hard to think of relaxing things like sunshine and hot baths and lying on his back under a tree in summer, the scent of apples and broom polish, and - a tongue, invading his thoughts and slowly licking a stripe along the underside of his cock.  _ Yes _ . He felt himself twitch, and the tongue started its path again, base to tip, slow and wet, those fingers, lower, making little circles in place. This was too good, and not enough, and he wanted it all, now, before his traitorous, cursed libido ruined it for him.

'More,' he breathed, and felt the acquiescence immediately, a slide and twist of fingers inside him, a delicious, almost masochistic urge for even more pressure, more stretch, built up in him. 'Hurry,' Harry added, and curled up, bracing on one hand and burying his fingers in that white-blonde hair with the other, tightening his fist, pulling that talented tongue off him so he could wrap his lube-covered hand around Draco’s cock, sliding his palm over the whole length and hoping the meaning was clear.  Judging by the pause in the movements of his fingers and a gratifying flutter of pale eyelashes, Harry felt pretty confident, and pressed a kiss to Draco's parted lips, directing his cock towards his own hole and giving a gentle tug.

'Are you in some sort of rush?' Draco breathed against his lips, trying for snarky, but Harry felt the withdrawal of fingers and the almost immediate press of blunt heat take their place.

'Yes, actually,' he replied, grabbing Draco by the back of the neck this time and pulling him backwards, 'I'd like you to fuck me before I explode again.' 

He knew that it was going to be intense, physically, with a sizeable cock inside him and the warm press of their bellies sandwiching his own. He knew the gradual, inch by inch, initial penetration would be weird and that the eventual smoother, faster, harder thrusts would likely get him close and coming fairly quickly because of the spell. What he didn't realise was that when you're on your back, and vulnerable, and someone beautiful is staring at you while all this is happening, that losing this particular virginity was going to feel so  _ personal _ . Especially when that look was bordering on adoration. Or something. Something that looked like actually giving a shit.

It all lasted a surprisingly long time and he couldn't help but wonder if the confusion of emotion was somehow distracting enough that it over-powered the remaining impetus of the curse. He had long moments to contemplate what was going on, to realise he was in the midst of some literally toe-curling sex, with a ridiculously hot and -  _ good god _ \- talented individual, who had openly declared that he wanted Harry. Wanted to be his first. To be doing  _ this _ , sober and in the bright light of day, on purpose. Because he liked it. Harry even spared a second before he came spectacularly all over the both of them, to realise that once this was over, Draco would always have been his first, even if he never bothered doing this with Harry again. Even if he never actually  _ liked him _ , liked him, never actually did give a shit. If he left tomorrow, Draco would've got what he wanted and Harry would've got… to know? To bask in Draco's glory for a few days? To realise what he was missing out on?

Lying, panting, in a puddle of their combined afterglow, Harry decided that didn't seem like a fair deal at all. 

 

***

 

The Floo ride into the office was short and only slightly sooty, since Harry's own kitchen fireplace and that of the Auror break room were kept well cleaned and neither were ever used for actual cooking or heating. Harry's because if he was at home, he was usually in his bedroom, and the break room because no one was allowed to get too comfortable in there lest they start taking extended breaks instead of doing their tediously relentless paperwork. 

There wasn't anyone in there when they arrived, which kind of proved that the whole thing worked. And also meant that there were less people around to see he was still sporting a semi under his robes. He hadn't actually come in a good half hour though, so there was hope it was over, finally, and he could go back to only being  _ mildly _ aroused whenever Draco casually touched him. For as long as that lasted for.

They went straight from the break room to Robards' office, only a few Aurors looking up from their work in the bullpen as they passed, and only half of them frowning at the sight of a Malfoy in their midst, not in restraints. Under the circumstances, if Harry had him in restraints again, it'd be a lot more than a semi he was trying to hide under his robes. That was something he'd prefer do when they were alone, rather than in the middle of his office. Chances are if Draco got  _ Incarcerous _ ed by someone else, even, Harry would have a hard time containing his… approval. Even though his Auror robes were quite roomy around the underpants region.

Fortunately, Robards was in his office for once, and in a frighteningly good mood.

'Good to see you're able to stand erect again, Potter.'

'Thank you, sir,' Harry shot a scathing glance at Draco - surely he hadn't told Robards  _ everything _ .

'I've negotiated a solution to your problem, Mr Malfoy, with the French press.'

'Excellent, sir, I'm very keen to hear it.'

'Simple really, they claim you're going to be a daddy, despite the fact you're a giant poof and even the girl says it wasn't you. Seemed the only way to prove anything was to find the real father and get him to admit to it. Or, of course, to waste a lot of the taxpayers money on expensive medical testing.'

'Yes, sir.'

'So I tried talking to the senator you mentioned, but it seems he's had himself  _ Obliviated _ by a professional.'

'Oh,' Draco deflated.

'Which leaves us with the other option,' Robards declared. 'Potter, get me a sperm sample.'

'What do you need my sperm for?!'

'Use your upstairs head, Potter. I need  _ his _ sperm,' Robards, jabbed a thumb toward Draco. 'Not yours.'

'Er… isn't a bit more, um, normal, to have him do it himself?'

'And leave it open for those rags to say we let him switch it out with imposter sperm? Are you mad?'

'Er… no, sir?'

'You'll supervise.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Isn't this a job for a Healer?' Draco cut in, voice cold with disapproval.

'You need a Healer to make me a sperm sample, boy? What's wrong with you?'

'Nothing, and I resent the implication.'

'I resent wasting my best rookie on babysitting you. Hurry up before your stupid little bint changes her mind about the thousand galleon donation you're making to her unfortunate child's education fund to make this happen.'

'The what?'

'You heard me. Go fill the cup. I have to get your stuff to France before it has a chance to cool.'

'Am I going to have to pay for the testing as well?'

'Only if you can't get me a sperm sample before the government lab closes.'

'But…'

'Stop. I don't want to know how you lot do it. Just get it done. Fast.'

'Um,' Harry was at a loss. 'Where, sir?'

'Where you are is fine,' Robards stood up from his desk. 'I'm going for a coffee. If you're not done when I get back in ten minutes, deal's off and you're fired.'

'Fired?'

'There are things I don't want to see, Potter, and unlike Mr Malfoy's good friend the senator I can't afford professional  _ Obliviation _ ,' he moved around them and stopped in the doorway. 'Ten minutes,' he said, and he stalked off, the door slamming itself behind him and the blinds shutting automatically.

Draco didn't waste any time, loosening his own trousers and dropping them and his pants onto the floor before pulling Harry in for a rough kiss and pressing his naked crotch against the sensitive semi Harry was still trying to hide. He gasped as the residual power of the spell took him from slightly turgid to very noticeably aroused in less time that it took for the blinds to stop clattering against the door.

'I don't expect you ever thought we'd be doing this in your boss's office,' Draco uttered into his ear.

'I never expected we'd be doing this  _ anywhere _ ,' Harry groaned, wondering why he and his poor over-worked dick had to be involved at all, when no one needed  _ him _ to come for this to work. Unless… unless Draco  _ did _ intend to swap their sperm because he  _ did _ impregnate the barely legal tv star. And he'd been lying to him. And Harry had believed him despite a history of animosity and dubious morality on Draco's part.  _ Fuck _ .

'You never had any deviant fantasies about me?' Draco purred in his ear. 'Not even in the last couple of days?'

'We had a very specific arrangement during which thoughts of my workplace did not feature,' Harry's erection might not be wilting, but his good mood certainly was. 'Especially not with you and your cock out metres away from everyone I work with.' 

'I'm offended you never thought about having me bent over a desk,' Draco admonished playfully, nipping at Harry's neck. 'I thought that one was a cliché among law enforcement.'

'You're not exactly mine to just  _ have _ ,' Harry snapped.  _ Especially if you're actually involved with some nasty, slutty sixteen year old back in France and you've been lying about it.  _ He was vaguely aware he might be being melodramatic.

'For fuck's sake,' Draco stopped kissing Harry's neck and pushed him away. He looked fed up with something. The irritation in his drawn brows Harry could understand, but the slight sadness in his eyes was a trifle alarming. Shit - was he actually offended? Was he going to complain to Robards? About Harry not having previously fantasised about fucking him over a desk? Could he complain about that? 'Harry, I'm trying to indicate that I  _ could _ be, you idiot.'

'Assuming, of course, that you're not already someone else's.'

'What the hell are you talking about?' Draco looked genuinely baffled. 'Why are you suddenly being all…  _ weird _ ?'

'Why are you involving me in… this?' Harry gestured at Draco's crotch and the specimen jar on the edge of the desk. 'Are you… are you going to steal my sperm to get you out of trouble?'

'Why am I… Am I…' Draco was staring at him in confusion still, and what looked perilously like horror. 'What's  _ wrong _ with you?'

'I guess I just don't get why you're still doing this. All you need is to get yourself off into the cup and the whole thing's over,' Harry said. 'You don't need to indulge me so you have somewhere to stay, or so I'll protect you, or so you'll have a cover story so you don't lose your job or anything.'

'I'm not offering myself to you because you're  _ useful _ .' 

Harry scanned back through the other times they'd almost talked about this. He couldn't remember Draco saying anything that would hint at him being  _ Harry's _ . Well, when they weren't pretending to be a couple, anyway. Unless admission of having enjoyed a sexual encounter was code for that. All that really stood out was…

'But you said-'

'What I  _ said _ , Potter,' Draco huffed. 'Was  _ did you like it _ , but I meant  _ with me _ . Did you like it  _ with me?' _

'Oh.' 

That hadn't been the conversation he was about to bring up. All the way back then? Harry thought of that night and started to wonder what might've been said next if he hadn't gotten pissy and walked out. He may have been a little defensive at the time. But there'd been plenty of opportunities for Draco to declare his feelings since then. Because people did that, right? Put all their intimate, private thoughts out in the open with their former nemesis so they could be ridiculed or trod on or brushed aside with a chuckle and a pitying look? 

_ Idiot _ … He was an idiot. All the tiny little things he'd noticed that seemed slightly out of place in an arrangement like their one suddenly fronted up en masse in his brain and he finally saw them for what they were. Draco  _ did _ love him. Or liked him a bit at least. But apparently also doubted those feelings were returned. Enough that without knowing Harry's own feelings, he wasn't keen to blurt his own out under Veritaserum. He'd specifically asked Harry to not ask him how he felt about him, and Harry had assumed the worst.  _ Idiot _ .

'How can someone so impossibly stupid have ever had a single girlfriend, let alone have had  _ two _ very pretty, intelligent women, who are both relatively good at Quidditch, fall prey to his non-existent wiles?' 

Harry thought that was a very good question. But now that he was noticing all the little things that made it collectively obvious Draco fancied him, he couldn't stop. 'How do you know how many girlfriends I've had?'

'Everyone who's ever even  _ walked past _ a soggy copy of the Daily Prophet sitting in a gutter in the last couple of years knows how many girls you've dated.'

That was true. But still a sign, Harry decided. He felt a bit brave. Which wasn't that impressive considered he already knew how Malfoy felt now and had pretty much nothing to lose by showing his hand.

'And how many guys I've supposedly dated, now, I guess?'

'Yes,' Those grey eyes flickered with hope. 'Though you probably have a few hours before that goes to print if you feel like setting the presses on fire and throwing me under the bus, you know, if you don't trust me with your sperm.'

'Sorry,' Harry reached out and laced their fingers together. 'I do trust you. I just… I'm-.'

'You're just an idiot. And you owe me,' Draco declared. 'That was very rude.'

'I promise to fantasise about bending you over a desk,' Harry leant in and pressed a kiss to Draco's pout. Left another one on his jaw. It felt different, touching him and  _ knowing _ . He trailed the tip of his tongue back to where his ear met the soft skin of his neck and nibbled til he felt the lean, muscled chest under his hands relax and heard a soft sigh against his shoulder. Draco liked him. A boy  _ liked him _ . That was  _ so cool _ . And  _ OH MY GOD SO SCARY _ .  _ No. No. Ignore all the feelings. _

'And you're not going to set the Prophet offices on fire and ruin my cover story?' Draco asked, teasing with words but also, deviously, with his body, pressing his naked hips against Harry's still mournfully clothed ones.

'I'm a little busy right now to be setting things on fire,' Harry said, studiously not getting sentimental and grabbing at the front of his own trousers. 'Isn't that your department anyway?' He thumbed the button free and tugged to loosen the zip before sliding his own pants down his thighs and grabbing his and Draco's cocks together in his hand. Their eyes locked. ' _ Lubrio _ ,' he whispered.

'Only if you can actually make me come, Potter,' Draco smirked.

'Isn't that why you like me?'

'We'll see.'

 

***

 

'The baby is officially not yours,' Harry set Robards' letter down on the table in front of Draco and continued with making the tea, ignoring the weird owl that had made itself inappropriately comfortable on Deirdre's perch by the fire. He really needed to go pick her up from Ron and Hermione's, she'd be feeling abandoned. Or have forgotten him. Or died.

'I know,' Draco looked down his nose at the letter, and swept it aside like it's existence offended him. Which it probably did.

'Yeah, but now everyone else knows too,' Harry soothed. 'So you're free to go home, and you know, be normal.'

'I'm free to go home?'

'Yeah, that was the mission objective of, like, the whole sperm sample and expensive testing ordeal, wasn't it?' Harry took in Draco's newly pissy expression and sighed inwardly. It was late and he was tired and he did not have the mental energy for this shit. 'What?' 

'Don't you care about anything I said earlier?' Draco leant back in his chair and folded his arms primly across his chest. 'Or are you so focused on your professional  _ objectives _ you can't see how that might've sounded?'

'I-' Harry tried furiously to unravel this brand new conundrum. 'Of course I care, you dick. I have all sorts of non-professional feelings about us and you  _ know _ that so why are you mad?'

'You basically just told me to fuck off home, now, thank you.'

'I did not,' Harry was not going to entertain this. This was madness. He set the tea down on the table between them and calmly lowered himself into a chair. Freaking out was meant to be  _ his _ department. 

'But I'm free to just  _ go _ ?' Draco rolled his eyes. 'And you'll just let me leave?' 

'Yes?' 

'You don't sound very sure of that, Potter.' 

'I don't sound sure about it because I don't understand what you're ranting about. I can't just expect you to stay here because it suits me _._ ' _As much as I might want you to._ 'I mean, technically, at the beginning, you were a job, I was never meant to even _touch_ you, let alone shag you. And certainly not hold you captive in my home after the danger had passed.'

'And now what? Am I still a job to you?' Of course he would focus on the bit that offended him the most and made Harry sound like a twat.

'Of course not,' Harry ground out and took a sip of tea. 

'So what if I choose to stay?'

_ 'Here _ ?' Harry looked around.

'Not in your kitchen, dickhead,' Draco huffed. 'In  _ England _ . What if I stay and play Quidditch  _ here _ . Not in France.'

Harry considered that. Having Draco around a bit. Getting a shag once and a while when their schedules lined up. Occasional debaucherous weekends. Harry could meet him after training some days at the practice grounds, the England team seemed a nice bunch. And they all already knew there was something going on anyway, he wouldn't have to explain anything to them if things got… unplatonic, out in the open. And it'd be cool to see Draco play for England, like how he always felt more invested when Bulgaria played after meeting Krum. And noticing Krum was kind of hot.

'Well, I'd definitely come to your games.'  _ And hopefully shag you afterward. _

'You'd come to my games?' Draco seemed somehow dissatisfied by this.

'Yeah?' Harry said. 'And, like,  _ you know _ ,' he raised a suggestive eyebrow.

'Well, I'm not moving back here for ' _ and, like, you know _ ',' Draco picked up his cup and took a tiny sip.

'What? What have I got to do with you moving back?'

'Everything, you daft git. But not if we're going to go backwards all the way to 'I'll come to your games.''

'Oh,' Harry said. Was Draco suggesting what he thought he was suggesting? An actual real relationship, not just a fake story for the papers and an occasional hook-up? Would they even have time for that? 'I had assumed we'd never actually be able to date. You know, because of the distance.'

In truth, Harry had never doubted Draco would go back to France. It was just logical.

'The idea of me moving here never occurred to you?'

'No,' Harry shook his head. 'Why would you trade a three season contract for one season?'

'I hate to repeat myself, but,' Malfoy smirked. 'Because I want to be the first, and because you're really fit. And I like your cock.'

'I don't think that'd be a good basis for an actual relationship,' Harry blurted without thinking. He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to be trying to talk Draco into this or out of it. He enjoyed his company, both in and out of the bedroom, but he also thought it was probably a bit sudden to be moving countries after only a few days of casual shagging. 

And also, to be honest, if he'd known Draco might end up staying in England, he probably never would've kissed him in the first place. Though… that was back when he didn't know if he was allowed to kiss him and the prospect of never seeing him again after an embarrassing incident was welcome. Now… well. He was allowed to do all sorts of things, and he might miss that if it was suddenly very far away. But was that a reason for someone to move countries for him?

'I find your personality inoffensive as well,' Draco took another sip of tea.

'There's the romance,' Harry tried to play off his hesitation with humour. 'Why don't you just move in now, we'll start looking into wedding venues after our cup of tea, shall we? Then adoption tomorrow?'

'I  _ should _ live here,' Draco raised his chin. 'It's my ancestral home,' he shrugged. 'Well, one of them.'

'Draco. We aren't even dating.'

'Only because you won't agree to it, despite my offering to move countries for you. You're so fucking ungrateful, Potter.'

'We can't just move in together.'  _ Can we? _

'Okay, so if I come back, and we're boyfriends I'm just going to, what, go home and live with my Mummy? Everyone'll be like, Oh, Harry, what a lovely spacious home you have, where's Draco?' and you'll have to tell them, 'I kicked him out so he had to go live with his mum, but our relationship is going splendidly otherwise.'

'I suppose.'  _ Boyfriends _ .

'Tell me you haven't enjoyed the last few days.'

'It's been… good.'  _ Really good. But also, it's only been three fucking days. _

'Good?' Draco scowled, and Harry couldn't help messing with him a little bit.

'I've liked parts of it,' he deadpanned. 

'Do you even fancy me?' Draco hissed, his cup hitting the table with a thunk.

'In a way.'  _ A big way. _

' _ In a way _ ? This shit again?' Draco rested his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands. 'Why do I fucking bother?'

'Because I'm really fit and you like my cock and my inoffensive personality?' Harry smirked.

'Oh my god, Potter… are you messing with me?'

'Yes.'

'Well then, I take it back,' Draco flopped back in his chair. 'I'm staying in France.'

'You probably should,' Harry said wistfully. 'International portkeys are a thing. You can still come stay here on weekends?' he hoped that didn't sound too cold. It wasn't that he didn't want a boyfriend, he really really did, and it wasn't that he didn't want it to be Draco, because, again, he really, really did. It was just  _ a lot _ to deal with only three days after realising he even liked guys to suddenly have a famous boyfriend who wanted to move in with him. Now. Without asking.

'Well,' Draco sighed, and stared at his cup. 'That makes things a bit awkward.'

'Sorry, it's not that I don't like you - it's just-'

'I already quit and signed on with England,' Draco blurted. 'Clyde sent the papers through the Floo while you were in the shower again.'

'Oh.'

'I signed them straight away and sent them back,' his eyes flicked up for a second. 'You're looking at England's new starting Seeker.'

'Congratulations.'

'Yeah. Thanks.'

The silence could've filled a Quidditch pitch. The awkwardness might've needed a World Cup sized stadium. It was bad. Harry realised in a swirl of shame he hadn't ever actually told Draco he liked him, and yet, he was still willing to put himself out there by suggesting they get  _ involved _ . And cohabitate. And fuck, that was scary, but it wasn't horrible. Harry was just really, really afraid of it. 

He had an idea. He got up and walked into the hall, fossicking in his Auror robes for a small glass vial, recently refilled, hoping Draco wouldn't like, cry or anything while he was gone. Or change his mind.

He sat back down at the table and poured three drops into his tea, and took a large sip, feeling the dangerous tingle of magic fluttering down into his belly.

'I really like you,' he said, not even knowing if it was the Veritaserum yet or if he just really wanted to say it. He passed the vial to Draco, and continued. 'I want to be your boyfriend, even though my friends might freak out a bit, mainly Ron - Hermione and Charlie seem oddly enthusiastic…'

'So why are you being so resistant?' Malfoy let a single drop fall into his tea, and stirred it around.

'I feel like it's too fast, and it scares me.'

'We've known each other for ten years,' Malfoy pointed out and took a sip of his own. 'Is that not enough?'

'Not like  _ this _ , though.'

'Shame, it's rather more fun than hexing each other,' Draco settled his cup back on the table.

'I like duelling with you,' Harry blurted. This was weird. Normally when he used Veritaserum there was more structure, more questions and answers. Clearer roles in the dialogue. Now he just felt an overwhelming need to say true things.

'I prefer fucking to being sliced open,' Malfoy declared, only a hint of bitterness in his tone.

'I didn't mean to slice you open,' Harry met his eyes.

'I know,' Draco smirked. 'You looked like you were going to cry.'

'I  _ did _ cry.'

Malfoy stared at him for a moment, absorbing that truth. Harry had never told anyone about it before. 

'I thought you were so fit back then,' Draco smiled at the tabletop, blushing slightly. 'Until you almost killed me.' 

'I followed you 'round that whole year,' Harry admitted. 'I had an enchanted map.'

'I wish you'd been able to stop me,' grey eyes found his and held him there, quiet, calm.

'We've been through a lot, haven't we?' Harry whispered.

'Yes.'

'Is this a mistake?' 

'I don't know,' Draco let his gaze drop.

'How do you feel?'

'I like you too, much to my surprise.'

'Thanks,' Harry frowned gently at him.

'Don't get pissy,' Draco admonished. 'I thought you were boring for a really long time.'

'I wish I'd been boring,' even Veritaserum couldn't make that statement more true than it already was.

'I wish you weren't being boring now,' Draco said, and rolled his eyes as the potion forced him to go on. 'It's hurting my feelings.'

'Sorry,' Harry smirked. 

'Why don't you want to live with me?' Draco asked him.

'I'm being sensible,' Harry said, and felt a weird, sad feeling wash over him as he recognised it as truth. He was doing what was expected of him. Again. 'I don't think I  _ want _ to be sensible though.'

'Sensible  _ is _ boring,' Draco agreed.

'What if it goes horribly and we end up hating each other?'

'I'd say no great loss and we tried.'

'What if my friends hate you and refuse to hang out with us?'

'I'd definitely prefer that,' Draco had the grace to look ever so slightly guilty.

'What if your friends hate me?' Harry asked, picturing a scowling band of Slytherins.

'They totally do, but I don't give a toss,' Draco shrugged.

'What if… ' Harry ran out of objections. 

'What's the worst thing that could happen?'

'I don't know,' Harry admitted, trying to run through all the worst case scenarios he could think of and failing. All he could picture was them, together, happy. Laughing or bickering or gasping and sweaty and electric and on fire. Mornings lying in and eating croissants and danishes, evenings ordering food and playing stupid board games, days in the air, windswept and hunting for a flicker of gold. Constantly challenging one another, constantly needing more, constantly getting it. What did he have to lose?

'So what are we going to do?' Draco asked, looking up at him from under his lashes.

Harry smiled. ' _ Find out _ .'

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
